


Of Memories and Maladies

by House_of_Pixels



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), BAMF Hermione Granger, Department of Mysteries, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Long Shot, M/M, Magic and Science, Morally Grey Draco Malfoy, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Plot, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy, Unspeakable Hermione Granger, and a neat plot, but also have draco and hermione doing the coolest magic shit, look i really just wanted to play around with magic, okay so there's a lot going on in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:14:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27483289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/House_of_Pixels/pseuds/House_of_Pixels
Summary: Aside from being a place of magical progress and, wellmysteries, The Department of Mysteries had become a place of refuge for Hermione. In the depths of the oddities on the ninth level of the Ministry Hermione was allowed to be just another Unspeakable, not 'Hermione Granger: Brightest Witch of Her Age, member of The Golden Trio'. In the DoM she's allowed to work on her personal quest to repair the damage she'd done to her parents' minds, without the pitying glances of others.Imagine her shock when she discovers that she's not the only one with the bright idea of hiding away within the Department; And Merlin was she discovering that Draco Malfoy possessed the annoying tendency to have brilliant ideas.... That and some really, really stupid ones.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 26
Kudos: 50





	1. Prologue: The DoM

Prologue

Hermione’s path to the Department of Mysteries had been a strange one. Though, given the nature of the Department she supposed that most Unspeakables had a strange path into their line of work. Becoming an Unspeakable wasn’t exactly something people set out to do. Largely because of the fact that no one really knew what Unspeakables did until they became one themselves.

For Hermione, the path to that secretive department started with her own personal research into memory charms. An innocent enough area of study- widespread as memory charms were. An even less noteworthy pursuit following the war. The _Imperious_ curse, _Obliviate_ and memory modifying potions had been a popular defense for those accused of following Voldemort in the Wizagomot trials. All of which is to say it was not particularly unusual for Hermione to be doing research into the area. After all, she _did_ end up having a fairly large role as a reliable and respected witness in the court proceedings of the accused after the war. Memory magic was just one of the many topics in which she had quickly become educated to be as impartial and informed as she possibly could be.

Despite the recent popularity of the topic, the memory magic section of the Ministry’s Library was frequently void of other people. Having spent many months in the generally quiet section, Hermione had not been expecting to see anyone as she quickly double checked the information she’d previously written in her extensive notes. She was currently in a back corner, nestled between two towering bookshelves that contained some of the stranger, experimental theories of memory. An isle she had become intimately familiar with as of late. Familiar enough that she had a stack of books on the table that extended from the bookshelf with a simple charm. A stack she had left out for the past few weeks, not reshelving the books she would be coming back for multiple times a day. Seeing as no one had complained and that she had yet to actually encounter anyone in the isle in the past months, Hermione figured it was probably fine to do so. Which is why, looking back at the coincidence, her run in with Unspeakable Oscul was particularly mystifying and also strangely fortuitous.

“Merlin’s beard, you’re Hermione Granger, aren’t you?” was the first thing Unspeakable Oscul said to Hermione.

The words had two immediate effects of Hermione; The first of which had been to start in surprise. The sudden speech had ripped her from her deeply focused speed reading of _Memory Charms Through the Ages; An Exploration of the Forgotten_. 

The second of which was annoyance and mild dread at the misfortune of being recognized.

“Er.. yes, that is correct.” Hermione said distractedly as she glanced up, realizing she had no way out of this situation. She was in the back corner of the library with tall bookshelves on either side, the solid stone wall of the Library behind her and this strange man blocking the entrance to the isle.

She paused as she took in the deep blue robs that seemed to be entirely too much fabric for the man’s small form. He was practically swimming in the immediately recognizable uniform of an Unspeakable. He was a shorter man, middle aged with a thinning hairline and horn rimmed glasses. A stack of leather bound books clutched tightly to his chest. She cocked her head curiously, turning to face the man more fully. Unspeakables rarely appeared outside of their own department, and even more rarely engaged in conversation with other ministry employees- regardless of how famous said other employee may or may not be.

“Oh, I am quite sorry- you must think me terrible rude.” Too long sleeves were haphazardly pushed back as he fumbled with the stack of books in his hands. He managed to shift them appropriately, holding out a hand before her for a shake, “I’m Unspeakable Oscul. Big fan.”

“Oh, hello. Lovely to meet you.” Hermione took the man’s hand, surprised to find he had a rather firm shake. He stared at her as his hand retreated, a pensive look pulling his brows down.

The silence stretched out and Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly.

“Well if that’s all, I have a lot of research to get though before my lunch break is over.” She stated, gesturing to the open tome resting on the table before her (It was much too large to be considered a book, strictly speaking).

“Are you researching memory charms?” He asked after glimpsing the title printed at the top of each page.

“Yes.” She replied, still feeling acutely awkward. She wasn’t sure how much to attribute to Oscul specifically, or if she should brush it off as just how Unspeakables acted in general. They did tend to be a rather odd lot.

“I could have sworn that you work in magical creature policy...” The statement came across as a question.

“This research is for a personal project.” Hermione replied.

“Ah, hence the time constraint to your lunch period.” He smiled and the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes crinkled. Hermione nodded, still puzzled by the whole exchange.

“If I may make a suggestion, I think you may find _Grostson’s Guide to Obscure Memory Modifications_ to be much more helpful. It does a much better job at detailing the magical theory behind the development of various charms. “ He nodded towards a high shelf that Hermione knew contained the green tome he was referencing.

“With the glaring exception of counter charms.” Hermione pointed out with a huff, “He rarely touches on how the theory he so painstakingly explains could be used for counter charms. I also find his analysis of the Forget Me Not potion to be wildly inaccurate. His arythmancy is all over the place in his recipe, the man clearly was much better at documenting theories than actually preforming them.”

“Ah, so you’ve already read it.” Oscul chuckled heartily and Hermione got the distinct impression that she was talking to a fellow academic. Someone who had spent enough time in libraries to understood the unspoken rules of book based small talk. The knowledge made her infinitely more comfortable. 

“If I haven’t read every book on memory charms in all of London by this point, I’d be shocked.” Hermione’s voice took on a defeated tenor, some of her frustration creeping into her voice.

“My that really is quite a lot of reading. May I ask what you are looking for with such diligence?” The Unspeakable asked with a kind smile, “I may be of assistance, I consider myself a bit of an expert of memory magic.”

Hermione blinked at the man in confusion. She had not come across mention of a ‘Mr. Oscul’ in any of her extensive research. She was certain of it. After months of painfully detailed research she could list the established experts off the top of her head and his name was not on the list. She had not been kidding when she said she had read every book available on this subject. Really, today’s library excursion was merely to double check that her notes were correct. Specifically, she was confirming that there was just the one mention about hereditary inheritance of residual memory magic- an admittedly fascinating and under researched area all on its own, though one only tangentially related to her own work.

Her gaze drifted back to his robs and she realized she wasn’t likely to have heard of his work. Obviously. He may very well be a leading expert, just one whose work was under lock and key deep inside the Department of Mysteries. Hermione’s interest immediately piqued at the thought of access to more information, restricted, front line information none the less. Then she frowned, remembering that he was an Unspeakable, meaning he couldn’t, well, he could exactly _speak_ about his work, could he? Hence the job title.

“…Are you even capable of providing answers? I mean no offense, it’s just that given your…em, _position_ , I would think it would be restricted information.” Hermione questioned, raising a brow knowingly.

“Ah, yes I suppose that could be an issue. It really depends on what the question is. Or, more specifically, what the answer is.”

His expression and tone gave Hermione the distinct feeling that he was poking fun at her hesitancy. She sighed, unable to resist the chance that he may know something that could help her. Tit for tat, she’d explain her research and he’d maybe give her some pointers, seemed fair.

“It’s a bit a long story, but I suppose the short answer is that I am looking into more permanent solutions for _Obliviate_ counter spells. Not so much to undo the previous magic, the spell is designed to be irreversible, after all, but in supplemental counters. I have a specific interest in magically patching memories through use of the existing memories of another. The research is terribly lacking, but there are some promising theories coming out of the historical records from the middle east. They have records of rituals where-“ Hermione abruptly cut off, blushing. Stars, she’d been rambling. To a stranger. And Unspeakable stranger. Merlin, she must be more desperate for an intelligent conversation than she thought.

“Well, you certainly do know you stuff, Ms. Granger.” He chuckled, seemingly delighted with her explanation, “Tell me what theories you have.”

Hermione hesitated. She hadn’t explained her work to anyone, not even Harry or Ron. When they’d inquired after her extended hours within various libraries, she always brushed them off with non-specific excuses like ‘just a bit of light research, nothing important.’ That had seemed to satisfy them, and Hermione knew they were only asking to be polite and to make sure she was okay. They wouldn’t have any interest in the actual theories anyway.

Yet, there was something about this man, dressed in overwhelming folds of deep blue velvet and wise gaze that made her feel like she needed to explain. Like this was an _opportunity_ to get the answers she needed.

“…well, I think that there is something to be said about Fierro’s work in 1753 with transfer of memories through magical conduits, though the instability of memory integration after the transfer is discouraging. I think with the proper potion work and some tweaking in the charm matrices there is a lot of promise for assisted memory repair.” 

His eyes sparkled at her response, smile widening warmly.

“Of course, that’s all just theoretical, the records of ancient memory rites are spotty and often vary depending on who translated the runes, so I won’t be able to get a firm understanding without reading and translating them myself, something that is proving to be a touch more difficult than expected…” she grumbled the last part, remembering the reams of paperwork she’d put into the magical vaults of various preservation societies to be allowed access to the original copies.

“Ms. Granger, I am remiss to inform you that you have touched on exactly the sort of thing I-“ He paused, face twisting as he attempted to say something and Hermione suddenly realized he was working around a Tongue Binding Jinx, “- The sort of topic I do not discuss with others.” He finished with a lame shrug.

“Oh! You mean-“

“Yes that’s exactly what I mean.” He said with a grin. He paused then asked with a mischievous curiosity shining in his eyes, “Tell me do you have any interest in working in the DOM?”

Hermione was rendered temporally mute with surprise, as if she had been hit with her own Tongue Binding Jinx. This was not at all the way she expected this conversation to go. It struck that the man’s eyes held the same knowing sparkle that she’d once seen in Dumbledore’s. It was a rather shocking revelation, one that made her instantly somber.

“I, uh.. I suppose I’ve never truly thought about it as an option?” She assessed, still rather surprised.

“Well, should you ever tire of your current work, as important as it is, and desire to dedicate more of your time to your project, you know where to find me.” He said with a wink, shifting his books more securely in his arms.

“Are you- are you offering me a job in the Department of Mysteries to work on memory charms?” She asked, mildly disbelieving that a job offer to work in the most regulated and secretive branch of the Ministry could be offered after such a short and seemingly inconsequential conversation. And about a small side-project she was working on in her free time to boot!

“No! Merlin no, Ms. Granger!” He admonished, as if appalled she’d suggest such a thing “I am offering you a job in the Department of Mysteries to work on _whatever_ projects you deem relevant to the benefit of magical progress at large, within approval of the Counsel of Whispers, of course. “

“I- why? Why would you offer this, we’ve only just met? And, what is the ‘Counsel of Whispers?” Hermione fired off questions, supremely confused, by the seemingly out of the blue, too good to be true job offer and the strange encounter in general.

“I must confess that your reputation proceeds you, we’ve been trying to poach The Brightest Witch of Her Age for months now. This conversation was merely an opportunity to do so, though it certainly helped that you live up to all expectations. And the Counsel is the governing body that oversees the DOM, the very one I am going to have explain this unusual job proposition to later. Sanderson is positively going to bite my head off for this…” He gave one last smile at what must have been a truly baffled expression on her face, before turning to leave, “Do think on it.”

“I will, thank you.” Hermione called, though the Unspeakable was long gone from the library isle. She spent the rest of the afternoon thinking on the job offer that had resulted from what had been one of the strangest libraries encounters she’d ever had. Which was saying something as she had once encountered a basilisk in the Library. 

In the end, she considered the opportunity to work on her _Obliviate_ project all day, not just during her lunch hours or in the late evenings after she’d trudged home from work. To be _paid_ to work on it. It was really hardly a choice at all wasn’t it?

* * *

Within the week Hermione had packed up her desk in the Department of Magical Creatures, shuffled her various open cases to others in the Magical Creatures Department and filled out the necessary paperwork to become an Unspeakable. Oscul had been delighted to help, once he received her interdepartmental memo indicating her intent to take him up on his offer. The process had been less intense than she originally expected- or at least the paperwork had been. It really just amounted to a department transfer parchment and a notice of resignation. Once those were in, she received an interdepartmental memo indicating that she was to arrive for her first day as an employee of the Department of Mysteries the following morning at 8am sharp, 9th level of the Ministry.

As with most things related to the Department of Mysteries, Hermione had no idea what to expect. No one could discuss what the process was like, having been sworn to secrecy as part of said process. She expected that she would be subject to all manner of Vows and Jinxes to ensure secrecy, she just had no idea which ones. She had difficulty sleeping the night before her first day due to the unpredictable circumstances. She had no way to prepare. It was all very nerve wracking.

The following morning, she arrived on the 9th level of the Ministry, opening the grate of the lift to see a distressingly familiar view. A long black tiled hallway with several high arches, lit by that ethereal blue-white magical lighting, stretched before her. To the left she saw a solitary door, one she knew led down to the mysterious 10th level and in front of her she was greeted by a wall of people dressed in blue velvet, obscuring the door she knew would be at the end of the hall. The familiar surroundings of the Department of Mysterious brought up memories of the battle she and the DA had fought in it's depth during 5th year.

The group of Unspeakables introduced themselves as representatives of various projects inside the DoM or as members of the elusive Counsel of Whispers. The assembled group of Unspeakables then took her through the sleek black door at the end of the hall and into the shifting room Hermione remembered from her fifth year. The floor appeared as a still black lake, occasionally waving with some invisible current and 12 doors lined the walls at precise intervals. 

An Unspeakable, who’s name Hermione had regrettably already forgotten, spoke up, requesting that the room present the door to the Internal Affairs SubDepartment. A door to the left swung open and the wall of bodies dressed in blue velvet escorted her inside.

The room they entered, was, disappointingly normal, save for the black tiled walls and strange blue-white lighting that seemed to be standard in the DOM. Hermione was not sure what she had been expecting but a plain room with a wooden table and several plush looking chairs had not been it. The chairs were even covered in a rather outdated bright yellow print. The color certainly did not match the atmosphere of grimness of the rest of the Department and most definitely clashed violently with the blue of the Unspeakables robes.

“To start we will need to perform a Tongue Tie Jinx on you to ensure that you not speak of this day to anyone unauthorized ever again. Once that’s done we can explain the process more fully.” Melissa, a kind looking Unspeakable with slick straight black hair and large thick lensed spectacles, explained.

Hermione nodded affirmation, holding her breath as the spell was cast by a tall older Unspeakable. The spell sunk into her tongue with a tingling feeling and taste of slightly burnt bread. Hermione’s face crunched up at the sensations.

“Right.” Melissa continued, “Now that’s sorted, let me explain the process. You are free to refuse any of the tests, but refusal will result in your dismissal from the Department. First, we will have Fineas” she gestured to a tall unspeakable, “use Legellimency on you. You aren’t an Occulmens are you?”

“I know rudimentary techniques, but am by no means a master.” Hermione answered honestly. She fisted her hand into a ball in her lap as memories of the circumstances surrounding her acquiring of the techniques surfaced. She pushed them to the back of her mind with practiced ease.

“Do not use any techniques you _do_ know. We need to ascertain intent, which is easiest done through mental search. It is less painful if you do not resist.”

Hermione nodded.

“Once that is done, we will move on to Veritaserrum. We will ask a series of questions and you will answer. After that, a series of Tongue Ties Jinxes for the less important secrets and several Conditional Vows will be performed, you will need to assist on the latter; These are standard procedure to ensure you will not speak of any future work within the Department to anyone who does not have clearance. All very routine, you see. Then we will key you into the wards of the restricted rooms, which shouldn’t take more than a minute or so. Then we’ll break for lunch, after which you will be given a tour and shown you workspace within Subdepartment of Thought. Unspeakable Oscul has volunteered to be your mentor as you transition into your new position.”

Hermione nodded, slightly dazed at the influx of information. Merlin’s balls she was going to be subjected to a Legilimens _and_ Veritaserrum in the same day. Bloody hell it was going to be a long morning.

“Do you consent?” Melissa asked, her enlarged eyes peering at Hermione intently from behind her spectacles.

“Yes, I consent.” Hermione rasped out, nerves scratching her throat.

“Very well let’s begin. Fineas?” Melissa stepped back and the tall Unspeakable, Fineas, took her place. He gave her no ground, merely staring at her with the blank face of a man who’d done this so frequently it’d become mundane. At least the person entering her mind was practiced, small comfort as it was.

“ _Legilimens_ ” Fineas whispered, pointing his wand at Hermione’s head, making intense eye contact. The battery of interrogations began.

They whole process had gone surprisingly smoothly; the only uncomfortable parts had been the initial interviews while Fineas poked around her mind and her interview while under Veritaserum. There was a real vulnerability to being obligated to tell the truth, one that never ceased to put Hermione on edge. Plus, the potion had a nasty aftertaste. And of course, no matter how skilled the Legilimens was (and Unspeakable Fineas had turned out to be very well versed in the art) it was none-the-less painful to have someone breach your mind. She also found it to be particularly annoying how closely they’d examined her previous experience in the DOM, seemingly interested in how it played into her desire to work there now. Obviously, it didn’t. The connection to her the battle within the DoM was merely a strange coincidence- one consistent for someone who frequently happened to find herself tangled up in the middle of things.

The tour, given to her by Oscul, was disorienting to say the least. She had forgotten how well The Department was designed to render one lost. Hermione quickly became frustrated at not knowing where everything was.

“Didn’t we just come through this way? I don’t understand. We made a left followed by a right, how exactly have we looped back around?!” Hermione expressed her confusion as she and Oscul reentered the lobby room for the fifth time during the tour. It was the one room she could easily place, unique to any other rooms in the DOM in its liquid, yet firm, bottomless floor.

From what she could tell they’d come from the direction of the door that connected the elevator to the lobby, despite the fact they should have been coming from the opposite part of the DOM, where the Time Subdepartment was.

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” Oscul chucked lightly before explaining, “The experimentations in the Space Subdepartment did some less-than-sanctioned magical experimentation in 1843 that rendered the whole Department as a sort of quazi- suprarelational space. Supposedly they did try to return it to its original state for a few months, but their fiddling resulted in the unanticipated dislocation of the entire staff of one of the Subdepartments. Getting everyone back to the UK from their scattered locations throughout the globe was allegedly a _nightmare_. They decided to leave it be at that point. The DOM’s rooms exist, relatively speaking, in the same space that every other room does, all at the same time.” He paused, thinking, “Well most rooms do. There are some exceptions in…unusual rooms like the Veil and 10th floor.”

Hermione decided not to ask the inherit questions with those specific exceptions. The 10th level and Veil were not places she was ready to face, she wasn't sure she would ever what to know why they always seemed to be the exception.

“How on earth do you ever figure out how to navigate if all the rooms are, as you say, located in the same space?” She asked instead, blinking as the lobby’s doors spun slowly at Osculs unspoken request, before stopping. Hermione felt her face paling with a mild bout of nausea at the spinning. Oscul glanced over at her, doing a double take.

“I forget how disorienting it is for new Unspeakables. This should help.” He said, ruffling through his robes and pulling out an anti-nausea potion, holding it out for her.

“Eh, I’m fine, thank you though.” Hermione waved it off, mentally commanding her stomach to settle.

Oscul shrugged, stepping forwards reaching for the door that had stopped in front of them. Her turned the black nob and held the door open for her, “The key to knowing which way one is going is in knowing where one is going.”

“I’m sorry, what exactly-“

“Confidence, my dear, _confidence_ in where you are going is the map to the DOM. It is easy to get to a place you’ve been before but hard to go where you have not.” He explained following her into a broad room, filled with tables, chairs and various chalk boards.

“What if I need to go somewhere I haven’t been before?” Hermione asked, feeling well out of her depth. She found the uncertainty of it all equal parts deeply unsettling and fascinating.

“Ah, well you need to find someone who has been where it is you need to go, or else be very comfortable getting lost for a very long time.” Oscul smiled, gesturing to the room before them, “Welcome to the Subdepartment of Thought.”

Hermione looked around more fully, noting that the room, just like every room she had experienced in the DOM thus far, was lined with windowless shiny black tiled walls. At the back of the room was a polished black door with an old iron doorknob in the center, mirroring the one they’d entered through.

“This room is the Thought common space, lounge, lobby- really whatever you want to call it works just fine. We usually have some sort of collaboration happening. And tea. There is always tea, lest we rebel.” Oscul explained and indeed there was some arithmancy written out on one of chalk boards and an entire cabinet that appeared to be dedicated to hosting a large assortment of teas.

The room was vastly more comfortable than Hermione had expected; Cold and dimly lit, true, but there were touches of comfort throughout the space, a knit blanket draped over the back of a chair and seating area to one corner that sported a set of worn armchairs. There were also several glass bookshelves, throughout and she squinted to catch the titles, pleased that there seemed to be a wide array of topics, many of which were completely novel to her. A metal cabinet contained several drop boxes with various gold, glittering names shimmering from their respective cubbies. An interdepartmental memo breezed into the room, depositing itself in the box labeled ‘D. Samwells.’

“To access the offices, the back door is used, the front for access to the rest of the DOM.” He explained, moving towards the back, “Let me show you my office first then we’ll get you settled in yours. “

“I appreciate it.” Hermione said. Seeing as the DOM apparently actively tried to stop one from accessing unknown spaces, it was kind of him to show her where his office was. She had a feeling she would be visiting him often with questions.

The door opened to reveal Oscul’s office, which resembled a messy laboratory more than an office, with large wooden tables occupying the majority of the space in a sort of patch-work configuration. The remaining standing room ended being a sort of maze between the eclectic assortment of tables. The tables surfaces were covered in various books, notes, actively steaming potions and mysterious objects. A large Necklace rattled in a glass jar. A large purple cauldron was sending up rhythmic puffs of pink smoke. Hermione noted a canary perched in a cage hanging from the ceiling in the back of the room. She did not see any seats within the room, though she could hardly imagine where they would fit.

“Eh, it is a bit untidy at the moment, please excuse the mess.” He chuckled nervously, hand twitching on the door as she peered in gingerly, “Feel free to drop by any time.”

“Thank you, I’m sure I’ll take you up on the offer, there is a lot to learn here and apparently if I want to go anywhere new, I’ll need a guide. She said, exiting the room so he could close the door.

“Ah, well I suppose I signed up for that position by volunteering to be your mentor.” He shut the back door, pausing for a moment in concentration before opening it again quickly, this time stepping through himself.

“Here is your office.” He said gesturing into the new room.

Hermione felt a grin spread on her face as she followed Oscul into the space. He office was approximately the same size as Oscul’s, but significantly less occupied by tables, boasting only one rather than the five he had. She also had a decent desk chair and empty bookshelf, both improvements to the chaos that had been Oscul’s space.

“You can put in requests for more or different furniture in the main office, where they did your interview and secrecy binding this morning. They’re usually pretty good about getting you what you need, though on occasion you may have to be a bit persistent.”

“This is plenty to start with, certainly more than I had upstairs.” She walked over to the table, running a hand along the worn surface, noting the various divots and stains- wondering how old the desk was, what kind of magic it had borne witness to. Resting on the desk was a solitary piece of parchment. She picked it up, regarding the title ‘Project Approval Request’ followed by a few blank lines of inquiries about the project parameters.

“You’ll need to fill out that form to get approval for your project. When it's done, turn it into the head of your department, which in our case is Unspeakable Samwells. She has an inbox in the lounge. If you want more projects just send her a memo for another request form. There also tend to be several Departmental projects going on at any given point that come in from higher ups. You’ll be requested to work on those as well. Departmental projects will have you working with other members in the Sub-D, though you can usually choose which ones you work on. Just tell Samwells and she’ll get it sorted.”

“Will I get to meet her today as well?” She asked, looking up from the parchment.

“She’s a fairly busy woman, the Subdepartment of Thought is one of the larger ones in the DOM, but I’m sure she’ll stop by sometime this week to meet you. She’s a bit… intense, but then again most of us Unspeakables are.” He shrugged.

“On the contrary, I find you to be delightfully approachable.” She retorted and he barked out a laugh.

“I think you will find me to be the exception, not the rule.” The same mischievous light filled his eyes, “Well, if you don’t have any other queries, I think I’ll leave you to get settled. My door is, figuratively, always open.” 

“Thank you.” Hermione emphasized with an appreciative smile. And with that Oscul closed the door and Hermione was on her own. She looked around her office, smile falling with the overwhelming…everything of her first day. What one earth had she gotten herself into?

* * *

Hermione acclimated to life in the Department of Mysteries much faster than she expected to. The first week had been hard, no doubt. She had gotten lost on at least four separate occasions, having had to return to the main lobby of the DOM and start her route over. Once, she’d even somehow found herself trapped within an endless looping series of rooms from which she’d had to conjure a paper finch to fly off and find Oscul to rescue her. He had mercilessly laughed at her the whole way back to the Subdepartment of Thought.

She finally met Unspeakable Samwells on her third day when the woman barged unannounced into Hermione’s office.

“Well if it isn’t the resident newbie!” Samwells barked gruffly and Hermione looked up completely caught off guard while she had been filling her bookcase with relevant texts.

The woman was heavier set, with shining golden hair and bright blue eyes, that rivaled her robes’ color. She had an air of authority about her, and despite the frantic entry, she had a chilling sort of influence on the ambiance of the room. Hermione got the distinct impression that nothing got past this woman.

“That is what they call me. Are you perchance-” Hermione began, unsure whether to smile at the woman’s bold personality or draw her wand.

“I’m your boss.” Samwells said, sternly waving her wand and conjuring a piece of parchment.

“Here is your approved project proposal. I expect you to take on a few of the projects in the general department in the next few weeks as well, we could use a brain as big as yours is rumored to be.”

“Oh thank you! I wanted to-“ Hermione caught the parchment roughly shoved in her direction, scrambling to catch up to the woman’s speed.

“Listen, it was great to meet you Hermione, but I’ve got to fly.” The woman said, flipping her wrist to check her golden wizards watch, seemingly having already forgotten Hermione’s existence, “Godric’s sword! I’m running late today, bloody brains just _had_ to spawn today didn’t they…So long Golden Girl!”

Hermione’s door snapped shut before she had even had time to see the silver inked ‘Approved -D. Samwells’ on her ‘Project Approval Request’ parchment. What a whirlwind of an introduction. Oscul had not been kidding, ‘intense’ was perhaps and understatement when describing her new boss.

“Well that was not at all what I expected.” Hermione stated to her empty office, rather bemused by the whole event, “At least my project got approved.”

Satisfied with the state of things she got back to work.

* * *

The next few weeks proved to be very fruitful. Hermione stopped getting lost for one thing. For another, she quickly discovered that the Department of Mysteries, as well as her co-workers in the Subdepartment of Thought had vast repositories of knowledge and experience she had not had access to previously. It was a delight to discuss theories and projects with her coworkers and she often found herself to be the least informed in the room, a wholly new experience for her. One that metaphorically lit a fire under her arse to rise to the new level of academia demonstrated by her fellow Unspeakables.

She settled into her office, putting in requests for various magical and non-magical materials necessary for her research. She was amazed when they arrived promptly the following day. Things had _never_ been this easy upstairs. When she marveled at the speed with which things got done to her cowrokers they’d all shrugged it off. Ryan, an Unspeakable working in the field of experimental thoughts had explained the phenomena plainly by saying “Well we have our own budget and don’t have nearly the same amount red tape. Things run differently down here.”

Hermione had to agree, things did run _very_ differently in the Department of Mysteries.

She picked up a few other departmental projects, investigating novel memory modifications. Most memory related projects she ended up working with Oscul and she was delighted to discuss his own projects and models with him. He was investigating a new set of spells for modifying specific aspects of recollections without completely destroying the entire memory.

On her third week, Oscul formally requested she join his project as an adjunct Unspeakable, which Samwells had approved promptly. On Oscul’s project, Hermione worked on the layering of varying charms elements with furver while he investigated the efficacy of magical targeting between certain potions he had brewed by the Potions Subdepartment They worked for hours on theories and sample charms, referencing and bouncing ideas off one another well past normal business hours. Hermione found herself wondering where the time had gone more days than not.

That was the other strange thing about the DOM, the hours seemed to matter very little to those who worked there. Unspeakables came and went when they please, often at strange times of day. Most worked more than the standard work week on their projects and Hermione found herself joining them.

Though, if she was being honest, the work never really felt like work, at least not the kind of work she had grown used to in her previous job. She was dedicating all her time to projects she would have been doing in her free time anyway, so it felt more experimental than like the paper pushing work she had grown accustomed to upstairs.

Staying late offered time to confer with the other Unspeakables in her Subdepartment, who were bright men and women. They didn’t treat her differently because of the war, even seemed to have forgotten the relevance of the war at all. In a time when it felt like all Hermione saw and talked about outside of the DOM was the war and her role as one third of the Golden Trio, the change was a relief. It was refreshing to come down into the depths of the Ministry and just be another Unspeakable, working to discover the secrets of magic. It was as if when she was at work, the outside world didn’t exist. It was a breath of fresh air that drove her to the realization she had been drowning before. She’d been crushed under the weight of the war, the new responsibility like weights tied to her feet.

Despite feeling like the war was a distant concept down here, she still hadn’t been able to force herself into the prophecy hall or into the Veil Room. She was consciously avoiding the entire SubDepartment of Death in her effort to avoid the spiteful memories the eerie place held for her. She noticed that on days when she had to ventured into a new location, she always felt a spike of anxiety at the thought of accidentally ending up in that horrid place. Feared feeling the phantom ice cold breeze of death. Terrified that now she’d seen death, she’d be able to hear the whispers of voices emanating from that arch that had haunted Harry’s nightmares since their fifth year. She tried not to think of her own nightmares. Of how intimately her new job was tied to her own demons.

In the end, when the scales were tarred and loaded with the good and bad, Hermione couldn’t deny that she was happy. She loved it in the DOM, despite all of the utterly strange and frightening mysteries it contained….

Then, in a coincidental meeting that could _only_ happen to her, she figured out that she was not the only one who had sought shelter in the depths of the Department of Mysteries. Really, sometimes she wondered if the Subdepartment of Fate was onto something with their theory of Gravitational Pulls of Fate with the sheer improbability of the chance meeting. Because only she, Hermione-Always-Caught-In-The-Middle-Granger would find the hole of obscurity Draco Malfoy had buried himself in.


	2. Things in Places They Shouldn't Be

“Merlin’s bloody fucking beard!” Hermione cursed under her breath. Her head whipped around rapidly as she spoke, searching for a distinctive glimmer. She scoured the space of her office for the nearly invisible orb that had displaced itself from her wards. Again. For the fourth time that week. 

Her eyes scanned the space of her room, wand drawn with the incantations for new wards on the tip of her tongue, ready to cast at a moment’s notice. 

“Alright...where are you…” She whispered, scanning as she slowly walked forward around her wooden work bench, piled high with various magical herbs and objects. A large symmetrical metal cage sat in the center of her desk, intricate runes carved into the metal bars. A very pretty cage that was proving to be very bad at keeping its subject imprisoned. 

Hermione carefully peered around the piles of books that had accumulated on the various surfaces of her office over the last few months. As she moved she carefully watched where each of her limbs were in space, making sure she didn’t accidentally run into the stupidly hard to see sphere. Salazar, would _that_ be a disaster! 

“I swear to God, when I catch this thing again the _first_ thing I’m doing it’s putting a goddamn location spell on –“ Her grumble was interrupted when her office door was thrown open abruptly. 

Unspeakable Oscul tread into the room carefully with slow, measured steps. Hermione’s eyes immediately latched onto his wand tip, where the orb was shifting in and out of existence so rapidly it looked as if it was vibrating. Or perhaps shivering. It was fairly cold in her office, she couldn’t blame the thing. 

“Looking for this?” Oscul’s face was tensed as he focused on the warding spell he was producing to hold the transparent, slightly glowing orb in place. 

“Oh thank God.” Hermione exhaled, raking a hand through her already frizzy curls. She strode over to where Oscul was mumbling his warding incantations under his breath. 

She quickly pointed her wand at the ball, glancing briefly back at the cage, irrationally worried it wouldn’t still be there. Who could blame her, the orb was not below displacing its cage in order to escape. It wouldn’t be the first time the thing had pulled a trick to get out of her grasp. 

“ _locatum mutatio spatii ad crucem_ ” Hermione chanted, moving her wand in a complex five part wand movement repetitively. “ _locatum mutatio spatii ad crucem_ . _locatum mutatio spatii ad crucem._ ” 

Finally, on the third try the Orb blipped out of existence and there was the low squealing of stressed metal as the orb re-located within the warded bars of the cage. She eyed the cage wearily, wand still drawn...just in case. The runes on the side of the cage heated up and began to faintly glow and as they did the screeching of metal faded. The orb was held within, the light warping around it causing a sort of glimmering space, the only indication it was there. Finally back where it should be. 

Hermione sighed in relief, slumping down into the armchair that occupied the front left corner of her office. 

“ _locus posterum._ ” Hermione muttered the location spell under her breath flicking her wand in the vague direction of the orb. 

“So I take it things aren’t going well?” Oscul commented wryly, eyeing the cage warily. 

“No, they rather aren’t.” Hermione said, “The bloody thing won’t stay put, I keep adding wards and it keeps breaking them. The runes work below its charm matrix is _insane_ .” 

“When you say insane, do you mean cognizently insane or metaphorically insane?” Oscul asked, a curiosity sparking in his eyes. 

“Both? Neither? I’m not really sure, there’s just so much wrapped up and interwoven into the charms. I’m at a loss of what to do to keep it in one place long enough to start unwinding it.” 

“Is the cage supposed to be smoking…?” Oscul asked, snapping Hermione’s attention back to the cage. 

“For fucks sake!” Hermione exclaimed, rushing over to the desk where the runes carved into the cage had begun to glow white hot, emitting a noxious smoke. She cast a quick non-verbal cooling charm. The metal groaned and Hermione sighed as the runes returned to a dim red color. 

“Yes, I see the problem with that.” Oscul commented morbidly, “...You know, I may have a solution for you...” 

“For the love of all that is good, Oscul, tell me before this thing accidentally blips into someone and renders them a drooling vegetable.” Hermione turned her full focus back to her mentor. 

“I thought I told you to call me-“ 

“Yes, and I refused, you’re my mentor! It would be improper for me to call you by your first name. Now tell me what has entered that brilliant brain of yours.” Hermione interrupted, waving the notion off with a grin at the familiar bit. She didn’t really care what she called Oscul, but at this point it was too funny to _not_ continue egging him on. 

“Fine. I still think it is too formal, I’ve not officially been your mentor in months.” Oscul sulked at Hermione’s continued efforts to annoy him. 

“I believe we’ve gotten a bit off track, what was it you thought of to contain the orb?” Hermione refocused the conversation. 

“Well it’s hardly my fault when you insist on pushing my buttons.” He harrumphed before setting his shoulders and restarting, “Have you tried potions on the orb?” 

“Potions? Whatever for?” Hermione had not been expecting _that_ suggestion. 

“Perhaps there is some kind of medium that can be concocted to stabilize the orb’s location. It’s possible that layering more charms on its already impressive profile is creating complex interactions. It might be worthwhile to try a different type of magic.” Oscul explained. 

Hermione, paused thinking it through. She’d certainly never heard of such a potion. Generally the art was used to affect living creatures, it tended to be ineffective against objects- aside from the physical properties of the potion. Holding a magic object that was hell bent on phasing in and out of space, seemingly at will, was hardly the same as corroding through metal or wilting leaves. At least as far as her knowledge went. Potions was not her strong suit though, the lowest of her SPRUCE-NEWT scores. 

“Are you sure that could work? I’ve never heard of a potion having that kind of effect…” Hermione asked, chewing her bottom lip absently. She felt the sting of the split she’d worried into it and stopped her gnawing. She knew it’d been a stressful week when she’d adequately destroyed her bottom lip. 

“You say the thing may be more alive than we initially thought, it certainly has more magical properties than most objects. I’ve used potions before in cursed objects, it’s quite a growing field of experimentation. I have a really excellent Potions Master I can call if you’d like, he specializes in this sort of thing.” 

“Alright, it’s worth a shot, I know when to admit I need help. A Potions Master may be a good starting point, maybe they can fix it. Godric forbid I have to call the Space SubDepartment, you know how they drive me up the wall.” Hermione commented agreeably, glancing back at the cage. The orb was still there, so that was something at least. 

“It’s settled then, I’ll call him up.” A pause, “And Hermione, _please_ keep that thing in its cage until he gets here. The thing got shockingly close to my nose this go around and I’m beginning to think it has an affinity for me in particular.” 

Hermione sighed, “I’ll do my best.” 

Oscul left after a long glance at the orb, his eyes narrowing at the object threateningly, as if the orb could feel threatened by his stare. Really the concept that anyone, let alone an animate orb, could be threatened by Oscul was laughable; the man was a ray of sunshine. Which was saying something for an Unspeakable, who as a rule tended to be the dark brooding sort. 

“ _Accio_ potions books.” Hermione called as she returned to her work bench, making room as several references floated from her shelves to the space before her. She began looking through for possibilities, occasionally casting cooling charms on the cage. 

She supposed there were a few ingredients that had fixative properties, others that created a sort of yearning for a specific place or thing. Mixing those particular types of ingredients together could result in a disastrous explosion though. So maybe not the best combination for an already volatile magical object. God, the thought of the thing blowing up into little fragments that apparated about the DoM was enough to drain the blood from her face. Definitely not those types of potions then. 

But, then what? She was fresh out of ideas, at least ones with her brain functioning on this little of sleep. She was interested to see what this Potions Master would think. And honestly, she was desperate. 

She’d hardly gotten any sleep this week, having been called in by the various Unspeakables she’d asked to watch the orb while she was gone. And constantly having to watch the damn thing had made it virtually impossible for her to move forward with the curse breaking portion of the project. Let alone any of her other numerous projects. The bloody thing was a nuisance. She rued the day it caught her attention on the Thought Subdepartment’s project list. 

There was a sharp knock on her door, interrupting her quick scanning of her various reference texts. 

“Come in!” She called, setting aside _The Brewer’s Guide to Mind-Altering Potions_ back onto the sizable stack of other potions books she’d summoned. 

Her door swung open and Oscul strolled in with- 

Wait, was that _Draco Malfoy_ following him? 

Bloody hell, it was. 

The last time she’d seen Malfoy had been at his trial, when she’d been a key witness to the Malfoy family’s pitifully small list of not-evil deeds throughout the war. Back then, he’d been fresh from his three-month detainment in Azkaban and he’d looked haunted, for lack of a better word. Though, to be fair he’d looked haunted for a long time, at least since sixth year. So maybe it hadn't been his brief stint in Azkaban that seeped the vitality from his person. 

She realized that it had been three years since she’d seen him in person. The press seemed to be obsessed with her class at Hogwarts in general, regardless of which side of the war they had fought for- not just her inner circle of friends. So of course she’d seen pictures of him in paper accompanied with deleterious gossip columns. Him and all his Slytherin friends wandering about high priced tailors and restaurants. As if the war had been merely a three year inconvenience. 

Now, Malfoy looked much the same as he did towards the end of the war, but with a much healthier color to his face. He’s put on more weight too, no longer skeletal, instead looking as though he actually ate food once in a while. Not so sunken and ashen, though still with the sharp features, which at the moment were suspended in a sort of haughty disbelief as he pinched his nose in aggravation. 

“You work in the Department of Mysteries?!” Hermione blurted in surprise, and Malfoy’s face betrayed an equally shocked expression. 

“You’re the curse breaker Oscul has been mentoring?” He squinted at her briefly, before tilting his head back, closing his eyes and pinching his nose in a sort of theatrical show of aggravation. Hermione was still very much trying to recover from the shock of encountering Malfoy. 

“I should have bloody guessed, ‘brilliant young witch …’ of course it’d be _you.”_ Malfoy ground out, quoting something that Oscul had presumably said about her in a scathing tone. The comment was somehow both flattering and offensive. 

She was running through all the times she’d been in the other parts of the DOM, she had never once seen him there. Not once! Her brain was desperately trying to compute the image before her. Malfoy. In departmental blue velvet robes. In her office. In a highly secure part of the Ministry. 

“How on earth did _you_ get a position in the most secure part of the Ministry?” Hermione asked impulsively. 

Malfoy released his grip on his nose to stare at her, stung by the comment. Hermione felt shame burn up her neck, cringing. Yes, thinking back on it, the question had been phrased poorly. But it was still a valid question. Malfoy wasn't exactly someone Hermione would pick to be privy to the most secure secrets in the Ministry. He wasn't someone that one would describe as trustworthy. 

“Oscul, a word please” The shock melted off of Malfoy’s face as he spoke lowly, eyes ripping from the staring contest that he and Hermione were locked in, to look at the significantly shorter man. 

Oscul’s face twisted up in a sort of resigned disappointment. Oscul sighed rather theatrically, whining as if he were a child refused candy and Hermione recovered from the shock of seeing Malfoy at work enough to snort at Oscul's reaction. 

Malfoy’s eyes flashed to hers, face impassive and completely unreadable, wiping the mirth from Hermione's face. 

“Very well, Mr. Malfoy.” Oscul resigned, “Be right back Hermione.” 

Oscul moved to exit her office and Malfoy went to follow, eyes flicking around the room before they landed on the cage, lingering. A single blonde brow raised in alarm. Hermione followed his stare, finding that the runes had begun smoking in earnest again. 

“Bollocks. Bloody wretched-“ She grumbled, flicking a cooling charm at it before turning back just as Malfoy was exiting, blue robes swishing through the door. 

He closed the door with a quiet click and Hermione found herself alone in her office once again, completely baffled. Did this- did this mean that _Malfoy_ was the Potions Master Oscul had been referring to? Was Malfoy even any good at potions? She couldn’t single out a memory of him particularly excelling in potions class, though she admittedly had not paid close attention to how Malfoy had performed in school. She didn’t remember seeing him in the Special Provisional Retest Under Circumstances Examination for NEWT Students; the special allowance her class had been given to take their NEWTS, regardless of their attendance, or lack thereof, in 7th year. 

When on earth had Malfoy had the time to learn _potions_ of all things? He certainly hadn’t been learning much of anything 6th year, owing to the fact he spent the whole year trying to kill the most powerful wizard alive. And none of them had attended 7th year. Then after the war he’d spent three months awaiting trial in Azkaban and another 18 on probation after his sentencing. One couldn’t become a Potions Master on mere OWL level education, but she could not figure out when he had spent any time after 5th year on academic pursuits. She was stumped as to how he managed it. 

Beside the mechanics of how, the bigger question was why? Why would he want to become a Potions Master? The reparations his family had been court ordered to pay, while steep, had not been nearly enough to wipe out millennia of familial wealth hoarding. She’d be surprised if the amount the Malfoy’s had paid had even scratched the surface of his inheritance. So he didn’t _need_ to work, as far as she knew. Shouldn’t he be wallowing in self pity in some dark corner of his lavish family mansion or something equally snobbish? 

She had so many questions... 

...None of which were being answered by standing in the middle of her office fiddle fucking about while Malfoy objected to being in her presence to her mentor. Well. She would not relinquish this opportunity just because Malfoy just so _happened_ to be a Potions Master in the DOM. 

And she really didn’t want to have to call the Subdepartment of Space. Really, _really_ did not. 

Hermione set her mind, standing sharply. He would not ruin this opportunity for her. She would get this bloody orb locked in place, regardless of his enthusiasm to help. Besides, he didn’t have any respectable means of objecting to working with her. None that were valid excuses in the modern era. He’d just have to swallow whatever pure-blodded bullshite he was spouting to Oscul and work with her. 

But as of right then, she was wasting time waiting. She stomped over to her door, wrenching it open. 

“- I don’t think you’re really listening to me, Unspeakable Oscul. She was-“ Malfoy’s speech cut off as she opened the door into the conversation. He clenched his jaw, moving to stare at the floor as if it had offended him. Oscul looked less than enthused at whatever exchange they’d been having, as though he had about a million better things to do. 

Both men quieted at her entrance, Malfoy glaring at the floor while Oscul turned and gave her a pleasant smile. 

“Are you quite done objecting to working with me?” She directed the question at Malfoy tersely. His eyes darted up to give her a look. 

“We were just discussing the extent of your...history… together.” Oscul said delicately. Hermione snorted and watched a muscle twitch in Malfoy’s jaw as he worked to hold his tongue. 

“Our _history_... right...” Hermione monotoned, irritated at the way the word glossed over the extent of harm between them. She clenched her left fist as her forearm itched. 

“I was just explaining why it might not be the brightest idea to have me-” Malfoy protested quickly, raising his head to meet her glare obstinately. 

“-Look, histories aside I really would like to get this orb stable so I can actually go home and sleep tonight. Malfoy, you’re somehow a Potions Master?” Hermione asked briskly. 

Malfoy looked as if he was trying very hard to not have a brain aneurysm, bringing a self satisfied smile to Hermione’s lips despite her efforts to repress it. 

“Did you seriously just question if I’m _somehow_ a Potions Ma-“ 

“-Mr. Malfoy is indeed a Potions Master, the best in the Department of Mysteries in my not-so humble opinion.” Oscul cut in, grinning as if he could somehow emotionally muscle his way through the animosity in the air. 

Malfoy took a deep breath, the vexation melting off his face. He inspired deeply and then exhaled slowly. The action resulted in a cool, neutral expression, though his eyes still held a spark of emotion. Hermione vaguely wondered if he was an occlumens. 

“Yes, Granger I am a Potions Master. Much as I presume you are a Charms Master.” He finally said, rolling his shoulders down and back, while he turned to face her more fully. His expression remained eerily impassive and blank. 

“Good. I need one of those, now if you don’t vehemently refuse to be in the same place as a muggleborn, can we _please_ get to work?” She said, rather surprised at the civility in her tone. 

“Fine.” Malfoy replied levelly, stepping forward to where she was poking her head out of the door to her office. 

“Good.” She replied just as neutrally, turning to go back into her office, presuming he would follow. 

“Excellent!” Oscul exclaimed happily from where he remained in the lounge. Hermione sighed at the unrelenting optimism of her mentor. 

She heard her door close, again with a quiet click. Part of her marveled at how he could somehow make even the way he closed doors sound snobbish. She turned around to find Malfoy gazing around the room critically. His eyes landed back on her after a moment and he nodded. 

“What exactly do you need a Potions Master for? Oscul said something about a fixative?” Malfoy asked cooly. His stare was just as cold as his tone, all previous sparks of emotion smothered. Hermione felt the uncomfortable urge to glance away. 

“I need a potion that can hold a semi-conscious sphere in space while I remove the charms and curses layered on it.” Hermione said robotically as she broke eye contact and moved around the table to recheck the wards she had placed on the cage. They all seemed to be in working order. For now. 

Malfoy just peered at her, a thoughtful tilt pulling at his mouth. Suddenly Hermione was struck with how stupid the idea sounded. 

“I understand how preposterous the idea is, Merlin, who even thought of using a potion for such a task! I certainly can’t think of any examples, though I have only just started researching the potential. But you see, I have tried everything else I can think of, which I'm sure you know is an _extensive_ list of magic, and Oscul suggested that I try a different type of magic and I had _no idea_ that he was talking about-” 

“Could you _please_ shut up, Granger? I’m trying to think.” Malfoy interrupted with an irritated lit. 

“I- Excuse me?! Did you just tell me to _shut up_ ?” Hermione exclaimed, affronted. 

“Yes, I _did_ tell you to shut up, because in case you failed to notice, you were rambling and it was distracting.” He hissed unapologetically. 

Hermione all but vibrated with anger. Oh! The nerve of him! How dare he come here and insult her so (yes, okay it had _technically_ been at her request that brought him here, but still). Did he not realize all that she’d done for him after the war? All of the strings she’d pulled to make sure he and all his little Slytherin friends hadn’t been tried as adults? Merlin his ego was worse than when- 

“It is an unprecedented idea, but one I think we can try to accomplish. It has potential.” His calm words cut through her internal rant. 

“I- what? But you just interrupted to rudely inform me it was a stupid-” 

“Yes, I just interrupted you because you were providing no new information and it was rather annoying. I explained this already. Are you daft?” Malfoy sighed, unceremoniously crumpling into her armchair. He rested an ankle on his other knee in a picture of ease. She felt a flare of _wrongness_ at seeing him in what had become her favorite spot in her office. Damn it all, now she was going to have to burn her favorite chair. 

A silent stare down ensued as Hermione tried to rein in her anger. One the one hand, he was an arse. On the other, he had agreed to help her with a project that was ‘unprecedented’. And damn it if she wasn’t a sucker for interesting new magic. 

“Fine. What are you thinking?” Hermione’s curiosity won out. She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the wooden table in front of her. 

Malfoy’s lip curled into a grin as he quirked a brow at her. 

“Well I have a lot of thoughts about it. I think it’s best if you tell me what exactly we’re working with before I go off spouting theories, I’d hate to share more than you strictly need to know.” 

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, clenching her jaw. He met her stare with a controlled expression, though the twitch of the corner of his mouth told her he was enjoying tormenting her. The asshat. 

She huffed and pushed off the workbench abruptly, unfolding her arms. She reached over to the stack of books that were resting atop her notes, heaving them off and setting them down with a thump. She flipped through her notes, skimming for information he may find helpful. She paused, looking up to see him watching her from his seat expectantly. Ugh, the nerve of this man! 

“Well come on! I’m not just going to narrate to you!” She said irritated as his eyes followed her from his seat. 

“But I’ve just sat down-” 

“Malfoy!” She snapped and he stood with a pointed roll of his eyes. 

He strolled over to her side of the table, and she could swear he slowed his steps just to annoy her. He stopped just behind her left shoulder and Hermione had to forcibly resist the shudder of having a Death Eater out of her line of sight. Her nerves were screaming at her, the years of conditioning telling her that this was not safe, despite knowing rationally that he was not a threat. 

Deep breath in. He was not a Death Eater anymore. Breath out. Just Malfoy. The insufferable git from school. Inhale. Not a threat. Exhale. Just a git. 

“Well?” He drawled from behind her. Hermione’s hand clenched at her side, jumping slightly, despite herself. 

“Right. This is-” Hermione started before she heard him shift his feet and reflexively twitched anxiously, “Merlin, could you maybe _not_ stand behind me?!” 

He moved to be more directly at her side, face neutral as he scanned the items on the bench. He glanced at her hand clenched on the table, then his gaze darted up to meet hers. His face twitched with an unreadable emotion. 

Feeling infinitely better now he was in her line of sight, Hermione took a breath, lowing her shoulders consciously trying to relax the tension this afternoon had wrought. She uncurled her fingers and pushed her notes across the table to him. 

“Tell me about the orb.” He said, tearing his gaze from her to look at the object in question, completely ignoring her notes. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at the jittering object inside the cage. 

“Everything is in my notes.” Hermione huffed, ruffling the papers in emphasis. 

“Yes, along with what I am sure is _several_ inches of pointless drable.” He drawled giving the parchment a scathing look, “Give me an abridged version.” 

Hermione exhaled. She would not let him get to her. He didn’t want to read her notes, fine. She was a professional seeking a consult, she would offer said consult whatever format worked best for him. 

“It was picked up in a small village to the north by an auror recovery team a few days ago. When they arrived the Orb was just suspended in the town square and all the inhabitants of the town had been affected, mostly muggles but a few witches and wizards too.” 

“Affected? How so?” He reached out a pale hand and turned a page of charms books she had open on the desk. She glanced over to see his eyes skimming the information. 

“They were rendered blank slates. All of their memories were wiped from them. They had no idea who they were, where they were or what was going on. From the medical reports they even lost their abilities to understand their native tongue and do simple tasks like walk or drink from a glass. They were essentially reverted to the state of a newborn.” 

His head snapped to look at her, shock evident. 

“The SubDepartment of Thought received the orb from the DMLE and determined that physical contact with the sphere is what caused the reaction. I then picked up the case that night, given my experience with memory charms. So far I’ve determined that it has several memory and stasis charms on it, along with some pretty advanced temporal-spatial magic, which is what let’s it.. err... teleport.” 

Malfoy’s eyes widened incrementally, “This thing can teleport? And contact is what caused the extreme memory effects? Merlin, what on earth did you get yourself into, Granger?” 

“I don’t know what you mean. This is my job, I deal with objects like this everyday.” She replied tersely, offended at the implication that she couldn’t handle this. Realistically she knew that she actually couldn’t, which is why she was requesting help, but still. 

“But you’ve never called for help from the Potion’s Department, so clearly that is a falsity.” He pointed out in a condescending tone, a smirk creeping onto his face. 

“Semantics, Malfoy.” 

“Everything is semantics, _Granger.”_

“I don’t see why you are so insistent that this is unusual for me.” 

“Well for one thing, you’ve uncharacteristically agreed to take help from someone else-” 

“-I am perfectly capable of asking for help you absolute-” 

“-but more so, you’ve agreed to take help from _me,_ which really is about the biggest red flag I can think of.” He finished with a pointed look. Drat he had her there. 

“Fine, maybe this orb has me a _bit_ out of my depth.” 

“Well spotted...” He mumbled, a self-satisfied grin on his lips. 

“ _None-the-less_ , I am not out of my depth with the charms themselves.” Hermione forcefully continued stubbornly, “They are rather simple, just the occasional memory charm or enchantment. The difficulty lies in the quantity and interwoven nature of the layers of charms. Though, I will say that the inner layer of the magical matrix appears to have some fascinating transfiguration-” 

Malfoy pointedly cleared his throat and Hermione made a show of rolling her eyes. 

“The trouble is, I can’t keep it in one place long enough to begin working through the counter charms, because the bloody thing keeps apparating to different places!” 

He leaned in peering at the quivering object in question, before tilting his head to inspect the cage and runes themselves. 

“And your containment rune work isn’t working?” He asked and Hermione was surprised that he could read runic inscriptions. Then she felt dumb, because clearly he had _some_ sort of academic potential if he was allowed to work in the Department of Mysteries. 

“No. I have to keep an eye on it, or else it will burn through the magic in my rune work” 

He let out a low whistle. Leaning back and shaking his head. 

“May I?” He paused, giving her a tentative glance, raising his wand towards the orb. 

“Sure.” She said, and her hand moved on its own accord to where her own wand was stored in her robes. Just in case. Old habits and all that rot. 

Malfoy cast several diagnostic and testing charms spells in a row, most nonverbally, which surprised Hermione. She _distinctly_ remembered him using only verbal spells during the war. She’d assumed he was not proficient. Apparently she had been wrong. 

After a few minutes of him curiously trying a variety of spells-- all ones she’d done already, of course-- he sighed, glaring at the orb as if it’d personally offended him. 

“Well it seems you’ve got your hands full here, Granger. That rune work you’ve done is no joke. If that thing is able to by-pass both the wards and the rune engraved cage you’ve concocted, I can’t imagine what else you could do to contain it. Nothing you could’ve done.” He pushed his hands into his pockets. 

“Er, when you say _nothing_ you mean…?” 

“I mean nothing charms or enchantment related, it was a rather bright idea to think of using a potion instead, you owe Unspeakable Oscul for that one.” He gave her a look, clearly amused by the fact the brilliant idea had not been hers. 

“Yes, yes I owe my eternal gratitude to the man, blah blah. Do you think you can help?” Hermione waved off the implication. She owed Oscul for so much more than help on this one little project, it would hardly matter at this point. She was already far more indebted to the man than she could ever hope to dig her way out of. 

“Well it just so happens that I am the exact right person to ask for help with this.” He smirked smugly at her. 

She snorted in disbelief. Surely he was not the _only_ Potions Master capable of helping her. It was bold to assume that he was the only one able to help her. Beyond that, he hadn’t done anything to prove he was capable of helping at all anyway. 

His brows furrowed at her humorless laugh, a frown spreading on his face. 

“Look, I’m sorry, but you have always had an ego the size of Great Britain and you have yet to actually provide me with solutions. You’ve just been standing there demanding that I explain my work while you wax on about your own prowess without any substantial evidence of it.” She explained plainly. 

His frown morphed into a glare, some colour rising to his cheeks before he regained control of his expression, changing into that curious, neutral expression of his again. 

“Your doubt is a refreshing change from the deference of the rest of the DOM.” He deadpanned before continuing, “I work with experimental potions, specifically in creating them for particular needs. I do this kind of thing all day long.” 

Hermione gave him a skeptical glance. 'Particular needs' was an incredibly vague area of study, also the idea that he worked to help someone else was a tad unbelievable. He met it with an eyebrow raise and a resigned sigh. 

It was just, well, when had _Malfoy_ become someone interested in anything other than pleasing his father? Hermione could not pinpoint a single instance of him being interested in potions, let alone experimental potion brewing. Where was this coming from? Surely it had to be some sort of happenstance? A weird series of coincidences that he just rolled with after the war? She really couldn’t see him actively seeking out a position researching experimental potions. It did not fit the Draco Malfoy she had known. 

“What is it, Granger? I can see you being suspicious, just spit it out.” He drawled, blank expression still firmly in place. 

“It’s not important.” She said shaking off the thought. It wasn’t relevant what his motivations were, just if he could produce results. 

“Sure...” He said, though a troubled frown slipped past his neutral expression. 

“So, what do you have in mind for a potion that can prevent the teleportation of a cursed object?” Hermione changed the subject. She felt, at this point in time, at a loss as to what to think of this new Malfoy. The strangely calm demeanor, the weird allusions to his mysterious work. He was not at all how she remembered, not really. Sure, he was still the pompous git he'd always been, but he was also a complete stranger in many ways. The reality was that she hadn’t known him in years, if she’d ever known him at all. 

“Right.” Malfoy cleared his throat leaning forward again to inspect the cage. 

“Your rune work is solid, I can only think of a few substitutions I would make-” Hermione made a high pitched sound, insulted, though Malfoy just plowed forwards, “but I doubt it would have made much of a difference. I think… that given the nature of the orb and the relative success of the runes we should incorporate a runestone into a potion. The potion work itself will take some trial and error, but I’m thinking maybe fireflower and gilded beetle husk will be a good starting point. We’ll need to brew under several feet of ground, naturally. At least to start. I am open to the possibility of sub-sea brewing too.” Malfoy rattled off pursing his lips in thought, “I think a Drought of Living Death, minus the Valerian Root and Root of Asphodel may offer a substantial base to work off of. And there’s no way that using sopophorous bean juice would be helpful, no... better to lean on Fig leaf...” 

He nodded to himself at the thought, seemingly being pulled further and further into his own thoughts. Hermione had to admire this ingenuity; she'd have never considered adding a rune stone to a potion, and while she was less sure of the Draught of Living Death part, she could see the train of thought. 

“I can have a mock up tomorrow for you to try.” He finally turned to look at her, gaze unfocused, as if informing her of his intentions was an afterthought. 

Hermione’s face fell at that. The potion not being ready until the morning, meant that she would have to stay here another night. Or else bribe one of the few remaining Unspeakables in her department to watch the orb for her. Maybe she should offer to bring pastries tomorrow. 

“Alright. I’ll expect a trial potion tomorrow then.” Hermione agreed. Malfoy glanced at her impassively, before his gaze returned to the orb, clearly lost in thought. He looked up at her stare and met her gaze head on with a stare of his own. 

Silence ensued, once again. Merlin, she wasn't sure she could work with him if their interactions were going to be this tense and silent all the time. 

“Err, right, well thank you. I’ll talk with you tomorrow.” Hermione said, meeting his gaze, feeling very...watched. 

He blinked and turned to navigate around her table, moving towards the door. 

“Tomorrow then, Granger.” He turned to smirk over his shoulder at her, pulling open her door. 

Hermione had to do a double take as she caught a glimpse of the room on the other side. A room which was _definitely_ not the SubDepartment of Thought’s lounge. Instead he was strolling into a dimly lit room, where several potions and distilling equipment littered a dark wood bench. Herbs and vials where- 

The door closed behind him firmly. Hermione blinked, mouth agape. How the holy hell had he managed to leave her office into a completely different department?! She had never seen that. She had been told that you had to go through Departments in a sequential order, that rooms were like nesting dolls more than just random spaces, but he had just cut through all the previously established structures to go directly to … his office? Brewing lab? She had no idea. 

She narrowed her eyes after a beat, suspicious of his seemingly insider information. He clearly knew some sort of cheat to the special magic of the DoM. Fucking purebloods and their shortcuts. 

  
  


* * *

The following day Hermione strolled into the department with freshly baked pastries in-hand from a French cafe in Paris that she’d apparated to this morning. To say she was grateful to her coworkers for watching and intervening in what she was sure was a series of disasters with the orb was an understatement. 

She marched from the elevators through to the main lobby, requesting her department from the lobby room silently. The lobby doors spun lazily around, presenting her with the route to her SubDepartment. She stepped through the offered door and into the common space of the SubDepartment of Thought, then froze at the scene before her. 

Draco bloody Malfoy was seated on one of the tables, chatting animatedly with Margret, an Unspeakable working in theoretical telepathy spells. Around them, other’s milled about, unusual for this early in the morning, all glancing over at the conversation between Margret and Malfoy. Margret laughed brightly at something Malfoy said and playfully slapped his arm, a blush rising on her cheek. 

Hermione watched horrified as Malfoy grinned an, admittedly, attractive smile at Margret, his eyes alight with humor. He was almost...handsome when he smiled. The others in the room chuckled, one Unspeakable stepping forward pointing to a paper in his hand, asking Malfoy a question. 

Hermioine stepped further into the space, thrown off by the scene. Malfoy looked up at her entrance, face falling from the jovial smirk into that same still, neutral expression he'd worn most of the previous day with her. Slowly everyone else in the room turned to look at her, several breaking into bright smiles, despite the sour expression on Hermione's face. 

“Good morning Unspeakable Granger!” Margaret exclaimed with a wave. 

“...Err...Good morning everyone. I brought breakfast from La Petite Fleur.” She said, forcing her face into a smile. 

“Oh, Hermione, thank you!” John said stepping forward as Hermione set the boxes of treats on the unofficially designated ‘food’ table. 

“It’s nothing, thank you all for keeping an eye on the orb overnight.” She waved off the enthusiastic nods and thanks. 

The Unspeakables moved forward to get a serving and Hermione's gaze locked with Malfoy, who remained seated atop of one of the tables. As if he couldn’t have sat in any of the number of available chairs. Tables were not for sitting, didn’t his governess or nanny or whatever teach him basic etiquette? She sent him a look and he cocked his head at her. 

She blinked at him inhaling through her nose. Seeing Malfoy make _nice_ with her coworkers was not the ideal start to her morning. It made her anxious for the inevitable fallout when he double crossed them or insulted their ‘sub-par’ family trees. 

She brushed past him muttering “Come on.” as she headed towards the back door, opening it to her office. She heard him hop off the table and follow giving perky excuses to the other Unspeakables in her Subdepartment. Ridiculous. 

His footsteps caught up quickly enough though and he shut the door to her office behind him. Hermione quickly inspected the cage, relieved to see the orb inside. The runes looked to be a cool red colour. She cast a cooling charm, just to be sure, and turned to look at Malfoy, who was watching her intently from his place at the front of her office. 

“You’re early.” She commented, briefly glancing at her watch, noting it was not even six thirty. 

“I’d say it’s actually pretty late.” The twitch in the corner of his mouth gave away his attempts at goading her. 

Hermione gave him an unamused look. He sighed dramatically, as if irritated by her cool reaction to his attempted button pushing. 

“I was here most of the night. Hence, it is late for me. Relatively speaking.” He elaborated with a shrug and Hermione paused in her busied organizing of her desk. 

“Were you working on the potion all night?” she asked curiously, ignoring the fact that he felt the need to explain to her what the technical relativity of the statement was. 

If he had been here all night, it was indeed late in the work day for him. Maybe he was one of the Unspeakables that preferred working in the night. She could see it, being into dark magic and evil it seemed natural for Malfoy to be a night shift person. She wouldn’t be surprised if sunlight made him burst into flame, like one of those old Hollywood vampire movies. 

“Yes.” He confirmed her musings shortly. 

There was a silence as she waited for him to explain what he had done, or what he had achieved in said hours spent at work. 

He merely stared at her demurely. Waiting. 

“Well, did you figure anything out?” She asked tersely, as she unwound her scarf and stored it in the set of drawers under the table. 

He wandered over to her bookshelf, turning away from her to inspect its contents lazily--still not answering her question. Hermione felt a strange sense of breach of privacy at his inspection of her books, which only fueled her irritation and impatience at his lack of speech. She bit her tongue, knowing that he was just trying to rile her up. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. 

“I have several different options to try.” He replied calmly. Malfoy browsed her office like he had all the time in the world. 

“Okay, so are you planning on showing those options to me today or are you just planning on judging my bookshelf all morning?” She huffed, placing a hand on her hip. 

He turned to give her a mischievous grin, “I wasn’t aware that I was judging. A gentleman would _never._ ” 

“Please. We both know you’d search for any excuse to criticize me. And you’re hardly what I would call a gentleman.” Hermione scoffed, “Now these potions…?” 

Malfoy appeared to be holding back either a snarl or a laugh- it was really a toss up with him. But he swallowed whatever response he was considering and strode over to her table, facing her from the opposite side. 

He pulled out his wand and conjured a set of vials, all precisely the same size with nearly indistinguishable liquids inside. Each had a clean script written across a label. With a wave of his wand the five vials settled before Hermione. 

She eagerly picked one up inspecting the label ‘ Drought of Suspended Space; weaver spiders silk’. The script was neat, bordering on calligraphic and distinctly Malfoy’s. She’d recognize the pompous highborn handwriting anywhere. Hermione looked up to find him watching her reaction curiously. 

“Spider silk?” She prompted curiously. 

“Yes, it’s one of several variations I made last night. The silk has prolonging, chronologic properties.” He explained with a slight incline to his head. 

“Yes, but only when applied to items presenting with magical weathering. The orb seems to be immune to such effects.” Hermione swirled the vial, holding it up to one of the dim lights in her office. The liquid inside was viscus, lazily following the momentum of her swirling. 

“Gee, you don’t say Granger... Hence the addition of the essence of belladonna in that formulation.” He countered with a haughty roll of his eyes. 

She looked up from swishing the potion around. Of course! Belladonna to incite a dilation effect on the potion’s possible targets, widening the range of effectiveness and potency. She nodded, setting the vial back next to the others. Well that was… well rather insightful of him to include. 

“Interesting solution.” She stated as she started shrugging out of her velvet blue robes, “Let’s go over these others then.” 

Malfoy watched her with a raised eyebrow, “Do you usually insist on doing magical experiments in casual clothing?” 

Hermione paused as she hung the blue velvet on her coat rack. Glancing down at the pencil skirt and white blouse she was wearing underneath. This was casual? Oh right, purebloods. Merlin, he probably wore a three piece suit every bloody day. 

“I don’t see why I should have to wear my robes, it’s not in the handbook that we are required to wear them.” She replied primly. 

“...True... but the robes _do_ have the added benefit of magical repellants and dark magic absorptive properties. ” Malfoy stated with skepticism as if she didn’t know about the properties of the DOM’s uniforms. 

“You don’t think I know that?” She demanded. 

“No, I _know_ you know that. You probably have read the bloody handbook three times cover to cover and have a stack of parchment containing notes.” He replied dryly, “Which is why I am baffled. Hermione Granger, not following guidelines and safety rules? Blasphemous.” 

“My abilities to take efficient notes on all matters of import are not at all related to my decision to follow guidelines, particularly guidelines I happen to disagree with _Malfoy_ .” Hermione snapped, crossing her arms, “Besides I think it’s much more interesting that _you_ know what the guidelines are, given your propensity for complete lack of morals. Don’t you burn all of your rule books and guiding principles of humanity in a dark magic ritual? ” 

“Ouch, how dare you insinuate that I do those lowly types of spells. I only participate in the stuff strong enough to require at least _some_ sort of human sacrifice. ” Malfoy slapped his hands over his heart in mock pain, “Really Granger, you ought to have developed better comebacks than ‘you’re evil’ at this point. Besides, knowing the rules is the first step in sufficiently exploiting them.” 

“I have better comebacks than ‘you’re evil’. In fact, I think you may find most of them lean more towards ‘you're just an insufferable snobbish twat’.” Hermione snapped, finishing rather matter of factly “And anyway, I don’t insult evil people, I eviscerate them.” 

“Glad to know I’ve moved out of the ‘Evil’ category in your rendering of the world. I’d hate to be _reductoed_ because the Golden Girl made an arbitrary moral judgement on me.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes at his ridiculous behavior. God she hated that nickname. It was too prescriptive. It limited her to her role in a war long over, it set expectations too high, even for her. She was never going to beat the work she’d done with Harry and Ron to defeat the greatest evil wizard of all time. The name was unrealistic and crushing in it’s expectation. 

“Can we focus on the task at hand, what are the formulations you created and which should we try first?” She redirected the conversation, annoyed with how easily he could get her pulled into his pointless verbal quarrels. 

“Sure thing Golden Girl.” He smirked at her from across the bench. 

She sighed, of course he would single out that as the thing that annoyed her, he was always particularly good at finding the chinks in her armour. 

“May I?” He gestured to her side of the table. 

“What, come to this side of the table?” She scoffed, “I didn’t realize you had to get permission to walk around a table Malfoy.” 

“Woe is me for trying to be respectful of boundaries.” He replied flatly walking around the table. 

Hermione, sighed at his eternal contrarianism. She moved to the side as he took up a spot in front of the cage. He quickly sorted through the vials, reading each label and lining them up in some sort of order. Then he turned to glance at her as he picked up the first in the line. 

“This one first, I think.” He said holding the first vial up. It had a slightly greenish dark liquid in it, though Malfoy had the label facing towards him so Hermione couldn’t read it. 

“You _think_ ?” Hermione questioned raising a brow. 

“I _think_ that if we don’t want to create a chain reaction between the belladonna and the lacewing flies we should use this one first.” He spoke as if explaining to a toddler, raising an eyebrow. 

Hermione glared and gestured towards the cage, “Well go on then.” 

He uncorked the vial, moving towards the orb, before stopping abruptly, looking at her pointedly. 

“Aren’t you going to draw your wand or something?” He questioned condescendingly. 

“Do I need to draw my wand?” Hermione bit out, picking her wand up from the table anyway, “I was under the impression you had it all under control.” 

“I would not be surprised if something went wrong and it’s best to be prepared.” Malfoy abruptly switched to a more serious tone, all teasing wiped off his face. 

“Oh, you’re serious.” Hermione stated dumbly. 

“Yes I’m bloody _serious_ .” He said tensing, “This is entirely experimental. Not only do I not know what the effects of this potion will be, you don’t know what the orb is capable of. So I should think it is rather serious. Surely you know this? I didn’t think I would have to explain this to _you_ of all people.” 

Hermione shrugged, “I mean I am the same person who brewed polyjuice potion in the bathroom second year and used an illegal time turner to free a hippogriff. I’m not exactly known for playing it safe.” 

“Wait- that was you that freed that fucking beast?!” 

“That’s the part of the story that surprises you?” 

“Well, we _do_ work in the Department of Mysteries, using strange magical items illegally is practically a prerequisite to getting a job here, so yes that’s the part that surprises me.” Malfoy argued as if it was common knowledge that one must break international magical law to be offered a job here. Wait, was it a requirement? 

“Wait, what illegal magical items did you use then? The vanishing cabinet?” 

Malfoy stared at her for a long moment, opening then closing his mouth before his features became a blank neutral again. 

“We’re off track again, the point of this was that you need to be ready for... anything. Salazar help me, I’m trusting Granger of all people to have my back.” The last bit was whispered harshly under his breath, like the goddamn drama queen he was. 

“I’m ready.” Hermione stated, pushing down any quips she wanted to snap at him. 

Malfoy nodded then turned, leaning over the table to place the vial over the cage. He glanced over at her one last time and she gave him a firm nod. He turned back to the orb, gently tipping the potion between the bars of the cage pouring the potion over the object in a steady stream. 

The cage sizzled and sparked where small splashes touched it and Hermione watched as the potion made contact with the orb, seemingly seeping into it. It had a curious effect of staining the layers of shimmering charms around the orb. Almost as if the light were now refracting through many interwoven layers of glass. The orb slowed, the movement of it disappearing and reappearing within the wards of the cage decreasing to a rate of a few blips per second before coming to a halt. 

“Oh well that looks-ACK!!!”Hermione cut herself off with a squeak as the orb began to spark with violent purple flashes before abruptly erupting in a column of purple flames that rocketed towards the ceiling. 

Malfoy ripped his hand back from where it was above the cage, hissing as the flame caught the edge of his wrist. 

“ _Disminuo!_ ” Hermione yelled over the roar of the purple flame tornado, which promptly withered to a tiny line of flame. After a second the fire sputtered out with a few spits of purple sparks. She glanced up at the ceiling briefly taking in the deep black scorch marks, that appeared to be arranging themselves into circular dots of dark soot. 

Hermione stared at the orb with wide eyes. Malfoy seemed equally shocked. 

“Told you so.” He said finally, drawing his own wand and muttering a healing charm for his burns. 

“Prat.” Hermione countered. 

“On to the next.” Malfoy said, ignoring her. He was shaking out his hand from the sting of the healing magic and the tinctured smell of flesh knitting charms filled her office. Hermione nodded as he glanced at her, picking up the next vial, wand clenched more tightly than before. 

  
  


* * *

“For the record, _this_ is why I asked you why you weren’t wearing your robes.” Malfoy said, smirk forming on his lips as he watched her frantically cast spells to halt the embers eating a hole on the collar of her white shirt. 

“Oh shove it Malfoy.” She snapped as the glowing embers stopped expanding. 

They had just tried the final of the six vials and sequentially were taken off guard when the sphere had begun shivering violently, throwing what had become superheated potion all over the room. And all over Hermione's blouse. 

Malfoy was working on the various plasma balls burning through the various objects in her office, banishing the remaining lava-like goo as Hermione shoved her now frizzy hair out of her face. Nothing like instant humidity courtesy of unintended potion consequences to make her hair freak out. 

“What do we do now?” Hermione asked with a heavy exhale, looking at the empty potions. Malfoy turned to look at her, finishing up the last of the clean up. 

“I’ve got a really good starting point for bettering what we had.” He said pensively. 

“The spider silk was arguably the best. Though, I must say that, unexpectedly the tentacula stem variation seemed to work well too, perhaps due to the acidic nature? Maybe the magical property of the combative nature of the plant gave it the aggression needed to hold onto the orb.” Hermione mused. 

“I was thinking the same thing.” Malfoy affirmed, waving his wand vaguely at the vials, which disappeared, “The most crucial thing is to keep the potion cool, something I hadn’t accounted for. Possibly some derivative of snow nymph…” 

“I think you’d be better off using basilisk scale powder.” Hermione said confidently. The cooling factors in the scales were much hardier than anything from a nymph. And they’d need something with steel resistance to the charms of the orb. 

Malfoy tilted his head in thought, lips pursed. 

“You know, I think you're right, Granger.” 

“I usually am.” Hermione retorted. 

“Except when you aren’t” He said pointing an accusatory finger at her. 

“Name _one_ time-” 

“-not wearing your department robes today despite me telling you to.” 

“That is hardly an instance where I was wrong, I knew what the risks were and chose to take the chance.” Hermione stated breezily. 

“Semantics, Granger.” Malfoy replied, lips twitching in a restrained smile. 

“Everything's semantics, Malfoy.” Hermione countered, quoting his earlier rebuttal. She grinned, cocking a hip and crossing her arms, a smug smile on her lips. Malfoy lost the battle to the smirk that spread on his lips. 

Hold on a damn minute. 

Bloody hell, was she actually _enjoying_ this? 

Merlin, she was enjoying fighting with Malfoy. The potion fumes must be getting to her head. Yes, that was it. A bit of fresh air and a trip down memory lane to remind herself why he was a detestable human should do the trick. Hermione glanced at her watch. Perfect it was 11. A bit early for lunch, but a believable excuse. 

“Well this has been… a time.” Hermione said neutrality, “but I am ravished.” 

“It’s barely 11, Granger. Don’t tell me you don’t wear your robes _and_ you skip breakfast…” 

“No I just happen to be hungry.” 

He mumbled something under his breath, tilting his head back to stare at her ceiling, where the soot circles had begun an elaborate sort of edwardian waltz. 

“Sorry what was that?” 

“I’ll see you later Granger.” Malfoy said with a look… that meant, something? She couldn’t be sure. Probably annoyance. 

“Later, when?” Hermione questioned. She hoped she would only have to get orb watchers for the next few nights. 

“I should have a new batch ready before you leave today.” He said as he rested a hand on the iron door knob of her office door. 

“...But didn’t you say you worked all night?” Hermione asked, brow furrowing in confusion. Didn’t he have to go home? 

“Yes.” The word was a challenge, daring her to comment on the insane hours. 

Hermione stared at him, pursing her lips. He quirked a brow, expectantly. As if building up for a spar. 

“Okay well I’ll see you in a few hours then.” She finally said, deciding she really didn’t care enough to inquire about his strange hours. Malfoy could do what he wanted. So long as it wasn’t under the orders of a deranged psychopath intent on over throwing the government and committing genocide, she didn’t care. 

He nodded, opening her door, once again to what must be his potions lab, slipping through and shutting the door behind him. 

Hermione let out a breath, glancing at the orb in the cage, pondering one of the strangest mornings she’d had in the DOM to date. Which was saying something because she’d once walked into what could only be described as an experimental body switch magic when she’d been lost one morning. The visuals of that were hardly as haunting as the sounds…. She shivered. 

She cast a quick mending charm on her singed shirt, brushing off residual ash from the various explosive results of the potions. No use wasting time, just because the potion wasn’t done didn’t mean she didn’t have other avenues to explore. Hermione set Malfoy out of her mind and picked up where she’d left off with unraveling the various charms on the Orb. 

Annoyingly her mind couldn’t stop ruminating on the morning's events, and most disturbingly of all, how enjoyable his witty quips had been. A strange morning indeed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
> I did get a wonderful beta, so things should be cleaner going forward!


	3. Abram's Cube

It was getting late, nearly half six at this point, and Hermione had yet to hear from Malfoy. Part of her was relieved. One could only take so much of all that...Malfoy-ness… in one day. 

A bigger, and ostensibly louder, part of her was _fuming_ . The man had made a commitment to figuring this thing out only to leave her hanging at the 11th hour. How predictably unreliable of him. She had decided that even if Malfoy was planning on keeping her waiting all night she would use the time productively. Hermione had plenty of work to do anyway. If that meant putting in a few extra hours while she waited for Malfoy to slither in, that’s what she’d do. 

Besides _someone_ had to keep an eye on the orb. She did not need to come into the office tomorrow only to find the cage empty. Again. She’d had more than enough of that racket last week, thank you very much. Hence why she was occasionally casting cooling charms on the rune cage to prevent the semi-conscious object’s impending prison escape. 

Hermione was also sifting through some of her extensive notes on ‘Project Australia’, the name she’d given to her personal research into returning memories that had been removed from well cast _Obliviate_ charms. It was a never ending task, reviewing her notes. So much of the research she had accumulated was just lists of the smallest mention of a possible lead. Sorting through all of the spells, rituals, legends and oddities she had come across was a nearly bottomless barrel of information. Any time she could devote to reviewing the gathered leads to narrow her search was well worth it. Worth it, and beginning to pay off in spades; she’d trimmed and cross referenced her notes enough times to see clear patterns emerging from the noise.   
  
Herminone dragged a finger down the section containing the memory magics involving familial rituals, a turn her research had taken in the last month. These types of rituals were the lead she was currently unpacking and she was nearly to the point where she had a clear heading as to what to do next. Most of the instances of these old family rites had occurred several centuries ago in countries east of the edges of “western wizarding society”. 

There was a large concentration of historical accounts from modern day Turkey that had similar incantations to those found in the English magical vernacular. There were also several from feudal China, though Hermione found herself giving those less preference, solely due to the fact she did not speak Chinese and the process of learning the basic makeup of chinese-based-magic would be something she only resorted to if all else failed. The tonal quality of spells alone was a collection of magical landmines she wanted to avoid if at all possible. So the Turkey rites it was. 

There was one particularly promising spell, mentioned in several texts that had traditionally been used to extend the mental faculties of aging family members. Basically, it was a treatment for dementia before they knew what it was- let alone before the modern medimagic spells were used to prevent it. 

The spell was most commonly described as a blood ritual of ‘memory transference’ or some variation of that theme, which seemed an accurate way to describe it. From what she’d been able to glean, it involved harnessing magic that ran through families to instil memories within another clan-member’s mind. Not so much repairing their memory as patching it with another’s. 

From the way _Blood and Power: the rites and rituals of the ancient families of the Ottomen_ described it, it seemed as though this technique had been responsible for much of the passage of ancient knowledge from family member to family member throughout generations. So much so, that a large portion of the ancient familial lines in the Ottomen Empire had magic known only to members of the bloodline. If the lore was to be believed, the memories themselves had been passed down too, providing a truly unique form of history for those within the bloodline. 

The memories alleged to have been passed down through use of these spells were family secrets kept more furtive than Great Grandma Granger’s rum cake recipe. 

And boy did Hermione know it. After several firm denials from the official Library in the Turkish wizarding government, she had put in a request to the consulate in Turkey last week for special permission to visit and perform her research. Ideally she would be able to spend some time there, requesting a meeting with the five ancient bloodlines’ estate managers to try and get more information. She was still waiting to hear back. 

All of this is to say that while it was highly and impossibly infuriating that Malfoy had snubbed her, Hermione was not short of work to fill the time while she waited for him to show his pointy conniving face. 

She was cross referencing the list of departmental research into the inherent magical qualities of blood when a pop startled her out of her focus. 

_*Pop!*_   
  
She looked up, immediately looking to the cage for what she assumed was a mishap with the runes. The orb vibrated within, no evidence of damage.   
  


Then she noticed the vial that had appeared on the edge of her workbench, a folded piece of parchment tied around its stoppered neck. She frowned, standing to investigate. Reaching over, she picked up the vial and flipped the folded parchment open, seeing a familiar script.   
  
_Granger,_

_Here is the completed potion. Before you send me an aggressively worded memo: Yes, it will work. No, I didn’t tamper with it. No, I will not be joining you, I’ve got another matter that I must handle. Five drops should be sufficient, no more than ten or else I expect to be scraping you off the walls tomorrow morning._

_Cheers,_

_-DM_   
  
Hermione’s frown deepened at the note’s presumptuous tone, then cocked and eyebrow as she took in the purple tinted potion within the vial- very different from any of the ones that they had used earlier in the day. She wondered what he had settled on for the formulation, both out of curiosity and intellectual envy. She would likely never get over the fact that he had left her out of the final brewing process. They had been working together, as a team, she had hoped he would at least share his- 

_*Pop!*_   
  


Another note fluttered down to her table from where it had appeared above the work bench. Hermione picked it up.   
  
_I realized you must be having a fit that I haven’t given you the potion recipe, swotty as you are. It is written below for your peace of mind and my peace from your otherwise impending howler._ _  
_ _-DM_

For her _peace of mind_ ?! What an utter prat! She was not having a fit; She was, infact, merely curious as to the end result of the work they had done _together_ . Ugh! The presumptuous git! 

Hermione huffed out all the annoyance threatening to overflow in the form of a rather unbecoming interdepartmental memo with some practiced deep breathing- the kind she’d learned while learning occlumency. She managed a few deep breaths before looking further down at the parchment to find the listed potion instructions. They were written in that same neat script she would regrettably forever recognize as Malfoy’s: 

_Drought of Suspended Space_

_3 drops Infusion of Wormwood._

_1 twist of Powdered Root of Asphodel_

_5 strands of Faze Spider Silk, 10 centimeters in length each_

_1 drop Essence of Belladonna_

_1 powdered Scale of Basilisk, freshly ground_

_1 Tentacula Stem_

_Sloth brain, cubed_

_Prepare infusion of Wormwood, using the Reverse Finalis method. Add to the cauldron and place over medium flame. Once the scent of caramel is detectable, add Powdered Root of Asphodel. Follow immediately with the strands of spider silk added to the surface of potion in a lattice pattern. Once the potion emits a hovering black steam, add belladonna and begin grinding the Scale of Basilisk in an obsidian Mortar. Add powdered scale once sufficiently ground. Stir thrice with stem of Tentacula. Add cubed pieces of sloth brain and simmer for one hour exactly, removing from heat once done._

Hermione stared at the recipe with not a small amount of surprise. Some part of her had still been expecting Malfoy to not produce what was promised. Something that she was slightly ashamed of, clearly the man had a great sense for potions. This recipe was immaculate and obnoxiously clever. 

Curse him. 

It would be so much easier if he turned out to be terrible at potions. Then she could write him off and proceed to never speak or think of him again. But blast it all to hell, the man had skill. Which meant that Hermione had a new highly useful resource for her work. One who she also happened to bloody despise. It was the SubDepartment of Space all over again.   
  
She sighed and set the instructions down on her table, picking up the vial once more. She quickly cast one more cooling charm on the cage, just in case, before she uncorked the vial. A black mist effervesced out of the opening, forming a spherical cloud hovering in the air above the vial. The black cloud moved with the potion as she moved the vial- as if connected by magical strings. Hermione blinked at the strange phenomena. Curious.   
  
Without further ado Hermione moved the vial above the orb, which was still encased in the cage. She took a deep breath and tipped the potion onto the orb, counting the drops as they left the lip of the container. 

One. The first drop hit the orb with a hiss, emitting a puff of purple steam. 

Two. Another hiss and puff of violet. 

Three. 

Four. The orb’s movements slowed, sluggish. 

Five. The orb was still jumping about, but slowly as if it were weighed down by the effects of the potion. 

Hermione paused, biting her lip. The orb was still moving, surely a few more drops wouldn’t hurt. Malfoy had said no more than ten, so ostensibly she had a few more drops of buffer before something awful occured. Right. 

Six. The puff of smoke flaired with a slight blue flame this time. The orb shuddered, its movements so slight as to be almost imperceptible. One more drop should do it. 

Seven. A large flair of blue fire shot out of the cage towards the ceiling- 

“AHH!” Hermione yelped in surprise and yanked the hand holding the vial back. The potion sloshed dangerously close to the lip, threatening a spill. Luckily it dropped back down without overflow. 

The bright blue flame burned out before she could react with a cooling charm, snuffing with a hiss of purple steam. 

  
Hermione’s heart fluttered in her chest as she inspected the orb with wide eyes. It was still. Completely imobile, for perhaps the first time in it’s life. A grin split Hemrione’s face as she stared at the light bending around the sphere. 

“Bloody hell, it worked.” She whispered in delight. 

She corked the vial again, watching as the black cloud of mist dissipated from above it. Gingerly placing it back on the bench, she made a mental note to thank Malfoy for his help. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth and caused her face to scrunch up in distaste…. Still, she _would_ suck it up, act professionally and thank him for this. It may kill her, but even she could admit this was astounding work. 

But before that uncomfortable task, she had a complicated spell matrix to dismantle. 

She grabbed her wand and began unwinding the interwoven layers of spells surrounding the orb, unable to remove the victorious grin from her face. 

~*~ 

The following days were filled with intense spell work to undo all the layers of interacting charms placed on the orb. Hermione ended up using almost half the vial of potion throughout the process to keep the Orb in one location. The potion never failed to halt the orbs movements and Hermione was impressed with its prolonged efficacy. 

Decharming the orb was one of those tasks that got more difficult the farther along she got. Not just from the fatigue of using so many counterspells or the complex sort of wand work required to remove interacting enchantments, but also from the fact that this thing was _much_ older than Hermione had initially thought. 

The innermost layers of the spell matrix were ancient; Charms that Hermione saw only very rarely in the oldest magical objects and texts. These were the kind of spells that had been among the first to be created with wand work. Any father back in time and Hermione would have had to start performing rituals to undo the magic in this thing. It was _that_ old. 

It all made Hermione wonder how the orb had gone unnoticed for so many centuries. Clearly _someone_ had been adding to and changing it over the course of several generations, what had happened that its owner had released it into the world? Or had the orb escaped? The mystery of how it came to be was almost as enticing as the orb itself, though arguably more difficult to solve. And also not her problem. 

It was Friday before Hermione had managed to render the Orb harmless. Surprisingly in it’s center was a simple porcelain sphere. She had been completely surprised by the mundane appearance that had been revealed when she managed to remove the multitude of invisibility and _Notice Me Not_ spells woven into the enchantments around the orb. Even more surprising was the delicate painted blue swan that decorated its surface. It was likely that the Sphere had not initially been intended to be a dark magical object at all, but a frivolous object of beauty.   
  
When she had finally finished breaking all the curses and charms on it she had scooped up the delicate ceramic orb and brought it to Oscul, who had laughed at the irony of the thing having such a fragile center. Then she’d placed the orb on her bookshelf as a decorative item. Right next to the toy horse and cracked ruby earring that were harmless tokens of two previous cursed item projects she had completed. 

Malfoy had never shown up. 

Nor had he replied to her thank you memo which had doubled as an inquiry as to what to do with the leftover potion. He hadn’t replied and Hermione carefully placed it in her bookshelf next to the porcelain sphere. Just as well. If Malfoy was going to ignore her requests for instruction, then she was going to keep the damn thing. She tried to ignore the ominous black mist swirling within the vial above the small amount of potion left over. She also tried to not think about the knowledge that the potion’s effects seemed to include production of large blue flames when exposed to objects in any quantities larger than seven drops. In fact, she was doing her best to forget Malfoy's existence the week following the completion of the Orb project. 

Which is why Hermione was so surprised to find him waiting in the SubDepartment’s lounge for her when she returned from her lunch break on Friday afternoon, nearly a week since she had last heard from him. 

He was seated in one of the cozy armchairs, a steaming delicate cup of tea in his hands and a weary expression on his face as he stared off into space. He was dressed in a wrinkled white button down and distressed trousers, a change from the blue robes of their last encounters. He looked, for lack of a better description, haggard. As if he had slept very little since their last visit. Which was saying something as he hadn’t exactly been well rested when they'd last spoken. 

“Malfoy!” Hermione snapped, stomping over to him as his head snapped towards her, “Where the hell have you been?” 

An irritated frown appeared on his features as she stared down at him. 

“As I said in my memo, I had business to attend to.” He spoke in a bored tone, taking a pointed sip of his tea. 

“That was nearly a week ago!” Hermione huffed, placing a hand on her hip. Blonde eyebrows rose. 

“Why do you ask? Were you worried about me?” He asked, smirk slipping around his lips as he lowered his tea cup onto the small side table next to his chair. 

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous.” Hermione scoffed, ploughing through the amused look that bloomed on his face, “I was however, mildly concerned about what to do with the remainder of your potion, given its tendency to burst into blue flames when accumulated in large quantities.” 

“Yes, so I had gathered from your multitude of memos,” He replied dryly. 

“So you _did_ get my notes!” Hermione exclaimed, shoulders tensing. She opened her mouth, ready to tear into him about the unprofessional nature of his recent behavior- 

“Did you take the leftover potion out of the vial?” Malfoy interrupted her thought process.   
  
“Did I…” Hermione started confused, “No of course I didn’t take it out of the vial, that would have been a terrible-” 

“-then you were fine. The vial is spelled to contain the explosive nature of the tentacula.” Malfoy rolled his eyes dismissively. 

“I don’t bloody care if the vial was spelled to contain Voldemort himself! You should have responded to my request for disposal instructions.” 

Malfoy just gave her a glance that told her he didn’t give a flying fuck what she did with the potion. Hermione restrained the frustrated noise threatening to escape her throat. 

“I take it this means the potion worked and you’ve successfully contained that surprisingly threatening orb?” Malfoy asked instead. 

“Yes, your potion worked beautifully.” Hermione replied tersely. 

“And?” He prompted. 

“And what?” 

“What do you say when someone offers you help?” Malfoy asked sindely, “Starts with a ‘T”....” 

“Oh go pick a fight with a hippogriff, you twat. Was that the T word you were looking for? ” Herrmione sneered and to her surprise Malfoy huffed out a chuckle. 

Hermione deflated a bit at his non-response. He had an annoyingly thick skin. Maybe he would get the hint and leave if he wasn’t going to be helpful. 

Silence stretched as Malfoy picked up his tea cup and took another sip, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. 

“Why are you here Malfoy?” Hermione asked point blank, folding her arms tightly across her chest. 

“Well in all of the copious inches of memos you sent me, you never did actually tell me if the potion worked; which is an important piece of information for me to know. You know, given the fact that I invented it. And also labored over a steaming cauldron for hours to brew it. Really just the whole fact that I was responsible for that little potion that was the first of its kind and also the crucial step for your success. Seems like a thing I should get follow up on... ” 

“Well it worked.” Hermione stated, irritated at the tone and the fact he was...well correct. He did deserve a follow up. However, she was stubborn enough, and sufficiently irritated to not give him exactly what he wanted: the notes and results of the potion she had painstakingly taken during the week of working with it. As far as Hermione was concerned the git could do his own experiments and take his own bloody notes. He’d made it abundantly clear what he thought of hers. 

Malfoy took a sip. 

Hermione stared. 

Malfoy took another drink. 

“Malfoy.” 

“Yes Granger?” He asked with a polite smile on his face. 

“Why are you still here?”   
  
“I haven’t finished my tea.” He replied, immediately bulldozing through the protest on the tip of her tongue, “AND I may have accidentally created a noxious gas in my lab that may or may not render those who inhale it unable to speak anything but russian for several hours. That is if you believe the rumors.” He shrugged nonchalantly, “Which are, obviously, false. I would never make a potion for that purpose that takes the form of a gas, that’s much better suited for a tincture.” 

Herrmione just stared, trying to process that dump of information. 

Malfoy took another sip of his tea. 

“For Godric’s sake...” Hermione said under her breath, rolling her head along her shoulders, taking a step towards the back door of the lounge. Clearly he was not going to leave until she gave him what he wanted. Malfoy twisted in his seat to watch her walk away from him. 

“Well come on then, I’ll show you my notes on the effects of the potion you relentless pain in the arse.” Hermione snapped over her shoulder, waiting impatiently for him to follow. 

“Excellent. _So_ kind of you to offer Granger.” The words were smug as Malfoy vanished his tea cup, still unfinished, and stood up following her into her office. 

Malfoy immediately slumped into the armchair at the front of her office and Hermrione was once again struck with a sadness that she still had to remove her favorite chair due to it being tainted with _residue du slytherin_ now. 

She strode over to her work table and grabbed the large stack of papers that comprised her notes on the orb project. She sifted through them quickly and found the section she composed on Malfoy’s potion. The notes started with a transcription of the recipe he’d sent her followed by pages of hand drawn diagrams and notes on its effects. She bookmarked the place the notes went within the larger report, lest she lose the place it belonged, and pulled the desired section free. She ran her hand over the neatly written pages and turned back around to face Malfoy. 

While she had been looking through the representation of her hard, long fought labor on the project, he had taken the opportunity to lean back in the comfy chair, one ankle resting on the top of the other leg's knee. Like a god-damned king awaiting service. Hermione stopped her feet from marching over to hand him the document, instead holding it out of his reach and raising one brow in challenge. She wasn’t an owl for Christ’s sake. 

Malfoy heaved a dramatic sigh, before rising from the chair and loping over to her, clearly just _so_ inconvenienced by Hermione’s inaction. 

He stretched out a hand, reaching for the papers with his left hand and the action pulled the sleeve of his button up back up his forearm. Hermione caught a glimpse of the exposed skin, which was blistered and red, angry looking in it’s inflammation. Hermione stared at the patch and Malfoy snatched his arm back, tugging the sleeve of his jacket down quickly. 

Hermione’s gaze darted up to meet his abruptly stone cold face. His demeanor had shifted from one of ease to one of heightened tension. Hermione opened her mouth to ask the obvious question. 

“Don’t ask.” Malfoy grit out, holding up his right hand, “I can see the question. Just. Don’t.” 

Hermione closed her mouth, biting her lip in restraint. Malfoy took a deep breath, letting it out slowly over the course of a few seconds, and all expression ironed out of his face. Yet another curiosity of his. She almost asked him if he was on occlumens, the characteristic distant look in his eyes was one she had seen in her own on the few occasions she had been able to occlude. 

She just had so many questions! Many of which hadn’t been answered the first time round! Why was he in the DoM? And why, of all things, potions? What on earth could he have done to his arm? Particularly his _left_ arm. Merlin, there were few things Hermione hated more than unanswered questions. And at the current juncture Draco Malfoy was the human embodiment of unanswered questions. 

Malfoy had turned his back to her, holding the report up as he read through it quickly, idly pacing as he did so. He seemed to have abandoned both the annoying teasing attitude and the cold snappish one, electing for no discernible mood instead. He _had_ to be occluding. There was no other explanation for the complete dissociation from his previously surface level emotions. Hermione watched with mild fascination as he occasionally nodded at something in the text, his hollow expression contradicting the motion. 

After several uncomfortable minutes of Hermione not knowing what to do with herself, but also not trusting him enough to leave him unattended, Malfoy finished the last page. 

“Superb.” Malfoy nodded, glancing up to look at her, holding the packet of papers up, “Mind if I _Replico_ this?” 

“Not at all,” Hermione replied, “As you have so _graciously_ reminded me, it is mostly your work anyway.” She added the last bit under her breath, though she could swear that the restrained twitch in his jaw indicated he’d heard her anyway. 

“ _Replico_ ” Malfoy started waving his wand as the packet copied itself in mid air. 

Another wave of his wand had the copy folding itself neatly into thirds before it fluttered down into his hand. He handed her the original, careful to not extend his arm again. Hermione stepped up to take the packet back with a quiet “thanks”. 

There was a beat of awkward silence as Hermione straightened the edges of the packet. Malfoy seemed to deem that it was time for him to leave and headed for her door. 

“What was it?” He asked out of the blue, hesitating around the exit to her office. 

“I’m sorry?” Hermione’s brows furrowed in confusion as she turned to place the original paper stack into its place within the larger report. 

“The orb.” He clarified, “Underneath all the charms and enchantments, what was the core?” 

Hermione spun to look at him, mildly taken off guard by the question. He looked at her expectantly and Hermione noted that some of the frigid expression he’d acquired had defrosted. 

“Under the more surface level spell matrix there were some really, _really_ old spells, the kind that aren’t really spells at all. More like old rituals that had been translated into spells.” 

“That’s intriguing.” Malfoy tilted his head in interest, considering, “The potion was equally effective against the Grey magic as it was against the Dark magic?” 

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, confused by the reference. 

Grey magic, at least when she had seen it referenced, was a posthumous term applied to magic in times before spell work had fully developed into light and dark spells. Before there were extremes of the spectrum available for use. It wasn’t a term that really described the magic itself though, more referenential to the time period than anything. 

“The potion’s effects on the older bit didn’t change drastically? The flame didn’t turn orange or suddenly cause an overwhelming sense of dread? Or perhaps render your intelligence inert-” He paused and gave her a prodding look, “You know there may be something to that-” 

“No you insufferable git, what do you mean by Grey magic?” Hermione cut him off. 

“The magic at the core, you said it was old. I assumed you meant Grey.” He stated blankly, as if he didn’t get where she was missing the point. 

“Yes, I-” Hermione paused, pressing her lips together, “I was under the impression that Grey magic was more of a historical descriptor than a category of magic. But you imply it is a type of magic, as if it has different properties than modern magic.” 

Malfoy stared at her for a beat, eyes narrowing in thought. 

“Interesting.” He said in a low voice, before turning with a shrug, “Well goodbye Granger. This was-” 

“Wait, you can’t seriously just leave it at that!” 

“-a delightful distraction.” He finished, not stopping at her protest as he wrenched her office door open. Before she could reply, he’d stepped into the mysterious potion’s lab that only he seemed able to access from her door. She was just starting to smell the faint scent of citrus that emanated from the room when he shut the door firmly. 

She spent the afternoon futility trying to sort out what properties Grey Magic had. She was annoyed to find that she was speaking in a vaguely Russain accent for the remainder of the day. ‘Better suited as a tincture’ her arse. 

  
  


~*~ 

Her attempts to find any information on the possibility she had been somehow misinterpreting the use of ‘Grey Magic’ in historical texts was greatly hindered by the fact the following day was Saturday. While a great many Unspeakables didn’t follow normal working hours, there was a general tendency to not come into work in the early hours of the weekend. Particularly for her coworkers that had families. Coworkers like Oscul- who was one of the people she most desperately wanted to talk with. She’d left him a memo requesting a visit when he returned to the office. 

She’d broken down around noon and sent Malfoy a memo requesting the explanation he so rudely omitted the prior day. She’d received a rather vexing reply of “ _Bit busy at the moment Granger,_ _surely_ _you can use your presumably record breaking SPRUCE NEWT scores to piece it together on your own. -DM”_ _  
_ _  
_ She then remembered why she had avoided sending him a question in the first place. Namely his annoying habit of doing the exact opposite of anything resembling helpfulness. The tosser. 

She’d then spent several hours in the DoM library searching for the term ‘Grey Magic’, only to find its use as vague and non-specific as she remembered it being. Which could only mean that either this was some sort of cultural understanding she had been exempt from knowing due to her status as a muggleborn or that it was a rather well kept secret, perhaps a new area of research. 

The latter of which would explain Malfoy’s decidedly thorough avoidance of explanation. If it _was_ a source of his research and he had some sort of vow or jinx forbidding him from discussing with those not in the know, then she would be someone he would be tongue tied against talking about it. 

  
  
  


Later that evening, after she had gone home and taken a much needed bubble bath, Hermione apparated to Grimmauld Place for her scheduled (and many times rescheduled) dinner with Harry and Ron. A glass of wine rested in her hand as she chatted animatedly with her two best friends seated across from her in the intimately small space of the kitchens. She was elated to see her friends, though a bit disappointed Ginny hadn’t been able to make it. (She had insisted that “You lot had better get together this weekend with or without me or else you will never again all three have a night off at the same time!”) It felt like it’d been forever since she’d seen Harry and Ron, though in reality it had only been about three weeks. 

Ron was detailing a highly embellished story about how he’s recently and unexpectedly had to work with The Department of Jesus Impersonation, a department responsible for handling witches and wizards who thought it funny to impersonate a muggle God known for performing miracles. It was, surprisingly, a very busy department. 

“And then, get this Hermione,” Ron said enthusiastically flipping a too long lock of red hair out of his eyes again, “Graston tells me that this whole time the center of operations was in _Wales._ Wales Hermione!” 

“Good lord, that’s a completely different country for Merlin’s sake!” Hermione exclaimed dramatically, performing her horror at the sheer incompetence of the lead auror. 

“That’s what I said!” Ron nodded in agreement, “Anyway, we then had to get special jurisdiction to portkey over to Wales and well, it was a right bloody nightmare wasn’t it! If I never have to work with that imbecile again it will be too soon!” Ron huffed, taking a large swig of his beer, shaking his head firmly as he swallowed. 

Hemione glanced over to Harry who was grinning at Ron’s theatrics, likely knowing the story was much less… traumatic than Ron was making it sound. He caught Hermione’s gaze and gave her a wink. Hermione’s smile widened and she turned to face Harry more fully. 

“How is work going for you, Harry?” She asked, noting Ron turning to look at Harry expectantly, “Hopefully not as much of a...mess… as Ron’s has been?” 

“Oh nothing so _trying_ as that.” Harry said, “Mostly I’ve been spending a large amount of time digging through the rubble of the latest crime scene The Diaspora left in its wake.” 

Hermione frowned, vaguely remembering something in the Daily Prophet from a few days ago mentioning an auror raid on an underground ring of dark wizards by that name. 

“The ones with the weird blood sacrifices?! Blimey Harry, they put you on _that_ case?!” Ron set his glass down on the table abruptly in surprise, “When did that happen?” 

Hermione’s memory snapped into place as she recalled reading about the reports of bloodied stone altars and strange rune work that had been found on several occasions throughout wizard and muggle London in the past months. She had brushed it off as sensationalized reporting at the time, but Ron’s reaction seemed to indicate that the press coverage was more accurate than she had originally suspected. 

“They requested my help two days ago and it’s more or less taken over my workload since then.” Harry paused, running a finger along the surface of the word table, “...it… well this case reeks of old school magic. The sacrifices, the blood magic, it’s all very” a wince, “reminiscent of some of the darker experiments performed by the purebloods in the war.” 

Hermione and Ron fell silent at the expression in Harry's face. 

“You don’t think it’s-” Hermione stuttered, “s-some old followers of Voldemort, do you?” 

“No.” a firm head shake, “ It feels separate. Different. Older.“ 

“What do you mean older?” Ron squinted in confusion. 

Harry sighed, taking another drink, glancing between Ron and Hermione's gazes.   
  
“These rituals… they feel, er, the magical residue they leave behind is just different.” Harry said haltingly. 

“What do you mean different? I don’t understand.” Hermione frowned. 

“Hmm, do you remember how the air felt during any of the duels or battles of the war? Like the hair on the back of your arms-” 

“Like a shiver. “Ron said, a shudder running visibly through him. 

“- yes, Ron exactly! It felt powerful, and not in a good way. Dark, yet not at the same time. Like how the mix of strong spells, both light and dark in the bigger battles of the war felt. This magic is just...not as cold as the Unforgivables? Vicious, yes, but different. It doesn’t feel the same as the magic used by the Death Eaters. More like the magic of Hogwarts or the magic house elves use. It’s-” 

“Grey.” Hermione spoke softly, “The magic is grey. Not light or dark, just in the middle.” 

Harry and Ron stared at her. 

“Hermione, do you… do you know about this sort of thing?” Harry asked, curiosity and concern clouding his features. 

Hermione cleared her throat, “I, yes. I have some experience with-” Her tongue abruptly felt heavy, a taste of burnt toast causing her to scrunch her face up in distaste. 

The Tongue Binding Jinx. Of course she wouldn’t be able to speak of the old ritualistic magic she was investigating. 

“That look can only mean you work with this sort of thing in that _place_ .” Ron’s eyes narrowed in distaste as he avoided mentioning Hermione’s department. 

“I can neither confirm nor deny that I work with that type of magic.” Hermione said evasively, thinking. Ron rolled his eyes, the vagueness of her response being answer enough. 

“Oh, well that’s rather annoying.” Harry stated with a downward slant to his mouth, “I was hoping to get your thoughts on the matter.” 

“I can try and answer,'' Hermione sighed, “But I can’t promise that I will be able to tell you what I know about everything you have questions for.”.   
  
Or if she even _had_ the answers. She barely knew anything about Grey magic. Rituals and rites of ancient times, yes. But not Grey magic. Hermione pursed her lips at her musings. 

Harry looked at her pensively. 

“Well I suppose I’ll just have to put in a formal request then.” Harry proclaimed with a bemused expression settling on his face. 

“Yes, well hopefully I will have-” Her tongue froze at ‘learned something at that point’, she sighed. Ron’s frown deepened and Harry just continued watching her struggle with amusement. 

“That is if that slimy git decides to actually be useful for one in his miserable life...” She mumbled bitterly. 

“Who’s being a git? Oscul?! But you bloody love that guy!” Ron asked in confusion and Hermione barked out a laugh. 

“No, no. Not Oscul.” Hermione chuckled “Ma-” Her tongue abruptly decided to stop working. 

Harry and Ron looked at her in puzzlement. 

“Seriously?!” She exclaimed, glaring at the floor before her, “I don’t really think that the fact I’m working with Ma-” The taste of burnt toast intensified. 

“GAH!” Hermione threw her hands up. 

“Tongue Binding Jinx?” Harry asked kindly. Ron’s face scrunched up mouthing a series of names that began with ‘Ma’ as he tried to guess who she was talking about. 

“Yes, but I don’t bloody know why it would stop me from mentioning him, it’s not as if the work we did was _classified_ from aurors with your level of clearance. Really the only reason it would cut me off was if-” Hermione’s tongue seized up around the phrase ‘his work was classified.’ 

Her eyes widened in realization. 

She met Harry’s mildly questioning gaze with wide eyes. Merlin’s Beard. Malfoy was working on something so classified that not even _Harry Potter_ could know about it. Bloody hell, the jinx was acting as if Harry couldn’t even know Malfoy even worked in the DoM! 

What on earth was Malfoy doing in that lab of his? And more importantly, what did it have to do with ‘Grey Magic’? Hermione realized that her assumptions about what Malfoy had been doing in the DoM were _vastly_ off base. She also realized that she was going to regret piecing together this little bit of classified information. Mostly because she now had that nagging curiosity in the back of her mind that she just _knew_ was not going away without some answers. Blast it all. 

“AH! I’ve got it!” Ron suddenly exclaimed, “Matterdom!” 

Hermione broke out of her thoughts, looking at Ron. Matterdom? Salazar, that was not even remotely close. A series of giggles burst out of her as she considered the preposterous nature of Ron’s candidate. 

“Matterdom?” Harry questioned distantly, “Doesn’t he work over in the Minister’s Cabinet? What on Earth would Hermione need to work with him on?” 

Hermione’s giggles intensified at the recollection of Matterdom’s pinched face and thick neck, looking as if it was ready to burst the buttons of his clashing tweed suits. 

“‘Mione, you alright there?” Ron asked, watching her fall victim to her laughter with concern. 

Hermione took several gasping breaths and wiped the stray tears from her eyes. 

“Oh thank you Ronald, I needed that laugh. Merlin, Matterdom. Imagine!” She chuckled again, feeling the stress of the last two weeks melt away. 

Harry grinned at her and Ron before changing the topic over to Ginny’s most recent match as the new captain of the Holyhead Harpies. The very match that had kept her away this evening as she was currently in what sounded like a rather posh hotel room in France. 

Hermione put work aside and instead focused on her friends, just enjoying being in their company. There would be plenty of time to worry about whatever dubious magic Malfoy was getting up to in that potions lab later. And certainly enough time to pester him until he finally let slip why Grey magic was suddenly cropping up all over the place in her research.   
  
She made a note to go searching for Malfoy’s lab first thing Monday morning. She would get her answers then on her own terms. Maybe she’d even bring her own tea cup to sip at condescendingly in _his_ favorite chair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! It's been a while. I got bogged down with school and then just took a week off from anything productive and it was awesome.  
> I am heading into my clinical year in school so I may be a bit sporadic in updating. My goal is to update at least once a month. 
> 
> Sending love for the new year!  
> Pixels

**Author's Note:**

> Alright here we go. Strap in, for I am physically incapable of NOT having a complicated interwoven plot.


End file.
